


Love Lies Burning.

by anniespinkhouse



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Domestic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fire, First Time, Homelessness, Homophobia, M/M, Mystery, elective mutism, neurological disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 95,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniespinkhouse/pseuds/anniespinkhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared Padalecki heads up one of the largest companies in the mix and bake market. He is ruthless, devious and successful. His personal assistant, Alona, will tell you that he’s an asshole. His best friend Misha will agree. When a Padalecki factory burns down, killing the homeless squatters inside, Jared finds out he has a stalker and his life starts to spiral out of control.<br/>Jen knows he’s wrong, he’s never been right. He stays quiet and watches from the shadows, until the night a fire illuminates his presence. He suddenly finds himself having to face a reality he’s been avoiding for years.<br/>In short, it’s a tale of obsession, deceit and danger, with a pissed off personal assistant …. and cupcakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artist: The art is by the awesomely talented takiai5jalka (LJ) who made this challenge so much easier because she’s a joy to work with. I cannot believe how she interpreted my story exactly how I pictured it, and drew it with so much character. 
> 
> Beta readers, alpha reader and cheerleaders: I cannot thank meus_venator enough for her ongoing beta (but she then is the one that got me into this in the first place – ho hum!) and also for her shared knowledge of the Pantone numbering system, including finding the numbers I needed for the story. annoyingfan did a fabulous job, coming in cold to make sure all my plot and character strings pulled together when it was finished. Similarly thank you to sylsdarkplace for the support, alpha, americanis(z)ation and comma tutorial, and fedaykin_here for cheerleading. I couldn’t have done it without you all. Any mistakes that remain are my own. I have a terrible habit of tinkering with the text.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: This is fiction, pure fantasy folks. Nobody here belongs to me and they’re not likely to get in my van for candy any time soon. I make no money from the strange stories I invent.
> 
>  
> 
> Authors Notes: I have shamelessly played with the ages of Jensen, Jared and Misha in this au and altered their family composition. Jensen is older than Jared by two years in this world and Misha is the same age as Jared. *I have no medical qualifications or experience and while I researched neurological disorders in the autism/aspergers spectrum I have no direct experience. The traits that Jensen displays, are a combination of behaviors which cannot be attributed to any real person. Every person is unique, I may have made errors, and this is fiction in a fictional world.  
> I’d like to thank wendy and thehighwaywoman at spn_j2_bigbang for doing such a great job organising this challenge. This is my first Big Bang and I had a blast.

He sees it through the stone-cracked window, a brief flicker and shine. _No, no, no. This isn’t right. This can’t be_.  He dusts off the mud that clings to his clothes, an unfortunate side effect of crawling under the wire. He remembers to roll the flap of fencing back to the ground, to make it look secure. The sign is still there, or is it new? ‘For Sale’ it says. The fence looks intact and the gate is padlocked. Sadie senses her master’s distress and noses at his hand, licking wetly at his fingers. He circles the overgrown perimeter and finds crates stacked in a wobbly heap, a stairway to breach his haven.

He creeps towards the noise and shelter. Brick fragments shatter under his duct-taped shoes and glass crackles and splinters on the exposed ground but he manages to slide silently through the lockless side door.  _Stay in the shadows son, be quiet boy, don’t draw attention_.

Four of them trespass in  _his_ space, lounging limply on _Padalecki_ ground and investment. He reads the papers; he keeps up with financial news. These bricks and timber, this windbreak and roof are owed to him.

There are old spoons and a pungent odor, bloody syringes and glassy eyes. Worse than that, and it fixes his green-gold eyes in a horrified stare, worse than that is the camping gas burner which flames blue, _8243_ and orange, _021,_ to liquefy coarse powder and bubble it golden brown, _876_.                       

Jensen’s hands tremble. He wants to shout, to tell them to go, get out of this place. Take their danger with them. He doesn’t, he remains silent. He stays in the dark, _433_. _Dust, dust, spark and flame_. _Electric and fume. Inferno._ His thoughts explode with colors, numbers, smell and sound and he’s not sure how long he’s been here but he finds himself pacing the boundary of the old factory with Sadie by his side. _Dust, dust, spark and flame. Fatal destruction._

How many hours? Reality is hazy and it is cold to the bone. He’s not sure if reality is the SUV, _cool grey 6_ , that creeps to the far edge of the building and leaves a mud trail over the pavement, but the evidence of its existence, or not, is soon unclear, covered by the screech of tires, the wail of sirens, scorching heat and the wet hiss of fire hoses leaking streams of water onto the sidewalk. 

Jensen hefts his pack onto his back and beckons Sadie to his side. First light is breaking through the night sky and he’s panicking, antsy and disjointed. His routine is all _wrong,_ all gone. All _bad._ It squeezes his heart and hurts his stomach. He knows where he needs to be, knows the only thing that will make it right, and if he walks now, paces slow, looks at every thing that passes and stops for every street corner, then he may be in the right reality at the right time. He can cope with finding a new place to sleep at night, he’s done it before, but for the daytime he has a schedule to keep and a place he must be. There’s only one thing that can stop the shake of his fingers and the chaos of his mind. He closes his eyes and pictures his place and his time, conjures images and voices. Jensen can almost see the name in bold letters; **Padalecki.**

Acrid smoke is pushed aside by the heavy wet mist hanging in the air, dampening his close shorn gold-brown hair and dripping behind his ear. Firemen in thick suits step around him in slow motion and police wave him through. Nobody gives the hunched-shouldered vagrant, with his dog, a second glance. Sometimes Jensen Ackles thinks he might be invisible.  He slips silently through the pandemonium and walks away.

At 6:50 a.m. a tall, tan man with vivid blue eyes and spiked blond hair drops his duffel bag to the floor and turns the key to the door of the sports center swimming pool. He casts his gaze expectantly to the shrubbery where Jen is loosely fixing Sadie’s leash to the trunk of a tree. He grins at the green-eyed man and nods. The tramp looks shyly back at him and moves toward the door. Padalecki swimming starts at 7:30 but the homeless man will be finished and on his way by then. They walk through the door together, at the same time and in the same way as they do every weekday.  Jen proffers a handful of change. Chad knows it will be the full swim fee, taken from whatever meager earnings the man picks up on the street, but he waves it away. “If you have a moment after you’re done, you can empty the exterior garbage cans and pick litter. It looks like a trash heap out there.”

Jen signs ‘okay’ with shaking hands and struggles to secrete the cash back into his backpack. Most people in the area assume that the green-eyed itinerant is deaf, stupid, lazy, or all three but Chad knows better. He may not know the man’s proper name, where he goes at night, or why he does what he does during the day, but he’s learned enough to know that none of those labels apply.

Chad has stopped wondering if he will get into trouble for this favour that he does. Nobody seems to notice the man. Jen fades into the background with the very suggestion of a stranger’s presence. The swim fee comes out of Chad’s pay. He can afford it and he hates delegating the tasks that the homeless man will complete. He doesn’t worry about water quality, the man beneath the filth laden and torn clothing is scrupulously clean for his circumstances. Chad supposes it is because Jen swims most days, taking a shower before and after his exercise.

The Center Manager gossips about everyday trivia while Jen changes into his trunks and places his tiny towel neatly on a bench. Chad doesn’t expect a reaction or any form of answer but it practically goes against his religion and morals to not talk. His quiet friend doesn’t seem to mind. Sometimes there’s the faint suggestion of a smile and Chad feels like punching the air on those occasions. Today the vagrant is out of sorts, edgy and trembling but Chad won’t mention it for fear of driving him away. Jen has a routine, a precise pattern to his life, and previous enquiries have made it clear that the manager’s role is as a swim enabler. It took Chad two months to coax Jen from the shrubbery where he watched swimmers enter the sports complex, another two weeks to work out that he could hear and sign, then several more days to find out that the man desperately wanted to swim but couldn’t find the nerve to do so with others present. Chad should probably worry about Jen's peculiar habits but he likes the man and doesn’t want to frighten him away.

By 7:00 a.m., Jensen’s body cuts through cool, chlorinated water. His strokes are smooth and even, his pace never alters and there’s no suggestion of breathlessness. He swims exactly twenty lengths, never more, never less. He climbs the ladder and exits.

At 7:25 a.m. Jensen leaves the changing room, with his head bowed and face hidden. He walks through the corridor, until he reaches the glass door of the gym. He looks up and sideways to where a giant of a man with shaggy brunette hair runs on a treadmill. He has his back to the entrance and is singing, enthusiastically but tunelessly, to his iPOD. Sometimes Jensen will take a few seconds to appreciate the rippling muscle and supple flesh but today he just lets out a small, relieved sigh. Jared Padalecki is in the right place at the right time and everything in his world is back on track. He ducks into the cleaning closet to collect a garbage bag and gloves and then sneaks past the reception desk, eyes to the floor, without acknowledging Chad.

Jensen completes his chores quickly, checking from the corner of his eye that the Padalecki limousine is in its place waiting for Jared Padalecki to finish his work-out. He collects Sadie and walks to his destination via the bus station where he assesses empty seats and trash cans for abandoned papers, discarded sandwiches or coffee, and small change dropped to the floor by businessmen in too much of a hurry to stop for the paltry coins. It’s a good morning. He snatches a half cup of sweet coffee, a copy of the Financial Times, a gossip magazine and thirty cents. Sadie guzzles a squashed bacon sandwich from the floor.

When he finally makes it to his spot, on the last chime of eight on the civic clock, his hands are still and his heart pulses steady. There’s a shine above the busy city street, opposite where he settles; **Padalecki Incorporated** is lit up, in giant block letters.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Spring is easing in and the sun shines today. Jensen lifts his face toward the hazy yellow orb before focusing on the entrance of the offices opposite Padalecki Gardens. Jensen knows the license plates of all the cars that pull up. Jeff Padalecki, Managing Director is exactly on time at 8:05, wearing his favorite navy suit and designer shades. He steps out of the car, looming large, even taller than Jared, exuding confidence and control. His P.A., Kim arrived ten minutes before him, no doubt making sure to have everything prepared in his office. Alona, Jared’s assistant, dashes in next. She’s flustered and clipping up her hair as she goes. He wonders why she’s worried, Jared won’t be in for another twenty five minutes. Misha Collins has no fixed schedule, the calm accountant with the cool blue eyes takes light steps to reception. He arrives any time between 8 and 9, today it's 8:17. Jensen settles on his blanket, just inside the gardens that brighten the view from the Padelecki Inc. offices. Sadie sidles close to place her head on his lap and he strokes her ears. Sadie groans and rolls to have her tummy tickled.

  


The sidewalk beside Jen’s patch of grass teems with the rush and race of workers flocking to their confined cubicles and dowdy desks. They keep their own space, weave in intricate patterns to avoid each other’s touch and chatter endlessly on thin plastic phones. He sits almost at their feet and isn’t seen, never hiding, but he’s in another universe, faceless to them.

Jared Padalecki, CEO of Padalecki Inc., industry leaders in the ' _ready-to-mix-and-bake'_ food market, doesn't see Jensen at 8.30 but Jensen sees him. Jared’s shirt is rumpled, and it’s flapping, partially loose, from his waistband as his hair drips wet onto the unbuttoned collar. Jensen puts his fingers to the nape of his own neck. He thinks it got wet sometime earlier, before he swam, but doesn't want to recall why. His brain gears up and reminds him that he got wet swimming so it isn't relevant. It’s dry now though, and the sky is blue, so it looks like it will stay that way. Padalecki Inc.’s CEO scowls at his doorman and slams the glass door too hard behind him.

There’s nothing new today. Everyone is in the right place at the right time and Jensen ticks all the major boxes on his mental list and relaxes. He picks up his belongings and heads for his next destination. The library opens at 9:00 a.m.

Alona closes the tabs on the careers pages that she’s been browsing, just before Jared stalks past. He picks a mug out of her outstretched hand and takes a sip.

“This coffee tastes like shit, Alona.” As greetings go, it’s not the worst she’s had from him.

He clicks his briefcase open on his desk and pulls a stack of papers from it.  “Where’s the figures?”  Jared yells through the open door at his assistant.

Alona counts to ten in her head. “Misha said he’d bring them up before your meeting.”

“Oh.”

Alona fiddles with her hair as she checks the mail. She feels his gaze on her and tries not to squirm.

“You’ve lightened your hair. I preferred how it was before. This makes you look like a bimbo. Try not to bring the company image down with you.”

She continues with the mail. It’s still not the worst thing he’s ever said to her. Alona isn’t sure whether Jared is wantonly cruel or emotionally stunted. From the slight smirk on his lips she guesses it’s the former, but when she took the job she’d said she wanted a challenge, and she certainly enjoys the pay. She’s lasted longer than any of Jared’s previous assistants and at eleven months that’s quite an achievement.

It goes quiet and she hears the shuffling of papers, the hum of his pc starting up and slam of a drawer. She stacks the mail into ‘urgent’, ‘routine’ and ‘unnecessary’.

“Why has my schedule been altered?” there’s a low growl behind her. For a big man Jared can be horribly stealthy. She's sure it's the only reason her office is plushly carpeted.

“Jeff thought it would be best to discuss the Linden investment first thing, so there is a united front about the fire.”

“Fire?”

Alona thought she’d seen every expression that Jared had to offer but the one that flits across his features at that moment is completely different to anything she’s experienced before. There is confusion, concern and perhaps panic? None of them are emotions that Alona would associate with her employer.

“You do know that Linden burned to the ground last night?”

“I haven’t seen the news yet. Is it completely gone?” Jared is back in control, his face carefully schooled.

“From what we can tell, yes.”

“Well that’s a lucky break. It needed something to push it on. Insurance pays up and the value of the land increases. It’s been a pain in the ass. It was never going to be profitable and the do-gooders still whinge and whine about re-opening it. Maybe we can offload it already. A good result I’d say.”

A shudder works its way down his assistant’s spine. “They found bodies, sir. There were fatalities.”

Jared’s brows furrow, almost meeting, “Fire-fighters or security?”

“Itinerants they think, there’s been four found so far.”

Jared’s tone lifts and he smiles “Street rats. That’s good,” he says cheerfully. “It’s unlikely there’ll be a claim against us then.” He picks up the pile of urgent mail and retreats to his space with a firm clunk of his door.

Alona freezes for a few moments, her mind whirs and spins. _Poison! The man is pure venom. You should quit! Leave! Pick up your purse and walk out!_

“Is he giving you a hard time?” Misha walks in without so much as a knock, shuffles his beautifully dressed ass onto the edge of her desk and proffers a pack of toffees. “Here chew on one of these. It’ll stop you saying anything you regret.”

“I should leave,” she says as she dips her hand in the bag.

“You know you’d miss his pretty face and that toned body.”

“It’s all a disguise for evil. He’s Dr. Robotnik.”

Misha tips his head and chuckles, “What did he do?”

“He doesn’t care, about the people who died at Linden.” Alona can’t hide her disgust.

“Woah! If you want to be fired then that is a good way of going about it.” Misha tips his head and there is a flicker of cold warning in the piercing blue stare. It’s gone in an instant and he’s smiling again.

“Oh God!” Alona sits up straight in panic and finds a distraction arranging the pens on her workspace. Sometimes Misha is so personable she forgets the influence of the blue eyed man. Some say that Jeff Padalecki is the second most powerful man at Padalecki Inc. but Alona knows it is Misha, the cheery financial director and Jared’s best friend. (Hell, his only friend!) It stretches her brain too far to wonder how that relationship even works. The difference in them is elemental.                                

He motions his hand to calm her, “What exactly did he say?”

“He said the fire was a good thing, insurance would pay out and the dead were unlikely to prompt claims against the company.”

Misha growls low in his throat but he’s still smiling at Alona. “Well, it’s the bare truth but he better improve his lines before the press rip him apart. Leave it to me.” He pats her hand and chuckles, “Dr Robotnik! That’s funny.”

Jared calls him in over the intercom and Alona follows Misha's progress until the door closes behind him. If her eyes linger on the cut of his trousers and the pull of his shirt over his shoulders there’s nobody there to notice.

Everything is just perfect until Jensen returns to his spot at lunchtime. He’s in the right place at the right time but it is an unfamiliar reality. A police car is parked at an angle from the curb by Padalecki Inc.’s offices and a crowd of noisy men and women with cameras surge forward against a hastily constructed barrier. Uniformed officers and security struggle to hold the line and the chaos obstructs Jensen’s view. Sadie whimpers and presses warm against his leg.

_Wrong, wrong, bad._ Jensen is shaking once more.

There’s a sudden increase in the level of noise. Microphones are held into the air and there are myriad flashes of bright white light, “Mr. Padalecki! Mr. Padalecki!” yell voices from the midst of the gathering.

Jensen doesn’t notice the screech of brakes and angry calls, one minute he is despairing over the lack of view from his spot in the gardens and then he isn’t. He finds himself in the middle of an overexcited, sweaty melee, standing mesmerized and terrified, just yards from the Padalecki Brothers. Jeff stands solid and supportive a step behind and to the side of Jared and Jared stands tall and straight in the center of the steps to their offices, holding a stack of prompt cards in his hand. The CEO is looking down at the cards and back at the crowd and swapping hands to wipe his fingers on his pants. Perspiration is beading on his brow.

“Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen.” Jared’s Texan drawl silences the crowd.

Arms stretch to the maximum to wave microphones and cameras in his direction.

“We would appreciate your attention while I read a short, prepared statement. I will accept questions for a limited time after the announcement and a press pack has been prepared. Please respect that Padalecki is a business that supports numerous workers and the local community. Give our employees the space and privacy that is due to them.”

Jared shifts his weight onto his other foot and breathes in. His gaze scans just above the mass of media, giving the appearance of looking at them but avoiding eye contact.

“Last night, at some time after 11:00 p.m. a fire broke out at the Linden factory on West Street, which is a part of the Padalecki Inc. portfolio. The factory was not in use, it was responsibly secured and there were no employees on the premises. We have been informed that there were, nevertheless, several fatalities. Our sympathies extend to the relatives of those lost in the incident. At this time we do not know how the fire started or any other circumstances relating to it. Padalecki Inc. will be giving its full co-operation to police and city authorities. We would ask you to respect the investigation. We will brief the press whenever we can. Thank you for your patience.” He effectively dismisses them but they are already shouting their questions.

“Mr. Padalecki, what were the victims doing on your property?”

“Mr. Padalecki, did you attend the scene?”

“Mr. Padalecki, the supporters of this business were giving you a tough time selling the building, do you have any message for them?”

Jared shuts his eyes momentarily and clenches his fists. “No, I wasn't in attendance at the scene. I was briefed on the incident at 9:00 this morning. At this time we have no information as to why anybody would have been on our premises. The destruction of the building certainly ends all calls to reopen the factory but it is not how we would have wanted this dispute to end.”

A loud insistent voice is repeating a question loudly. “Mr. Padalecki, this is the third fire to destroy property in dispute, in your company’s portfolio, in last five years, do you see any connection between them?”

There is a faint shake of his head and the styled brunette hair shines in the sunlight as it lifts with the movement. Jared seems to be steeling himself to answer the question when another, strident and nasal tone interrupts “Smith of City News. Mr. Padalecki, it is almost ten years to the day when another Padalecki factory was destroyed by fire during a dispute. There were two deaths. Do you see any parallels to this incident?”

The crowd hushes in anticipation of the reply. Cameras are raised and flashes blaze to capture the CEO’s awkward expression. A high pitched keening is coming from somewhere in the crowd and Jensen looks about for the culprit before he clutches his hand over his mouth, shocked to realize that he is the source. Jared Padalecki’s fox-like hazel eyes turn in his direction and find the wide-eyed green stare. They lock gaze and look at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment, until Jensen pulls at Sadie’s collar and battles through the bodies to flee. He feels Jared Padalecki’s eyes on him until he is around a corner, out of sight, panting and distressed. He catches his breath then starts running again, with no fixed destination.

Jared is shocked by the appearance of the man and his deep green stare. Something disturbing picks at his memories but he can’t make any connections. He tracks the shabby man’s escape until he is out of sight and takes a minute to compose himself, with hand outstretched and fingers splayed in the universal sign for ‘back off’.

“We have a large and varied portfolio and accidents are bound to occur. There is absolutely no comparison to be made with the Becks Factory, which was in production when an unfortunate chain of events led to a spark igniting airborne dust. That tragedy was a source of great regret for the Padalecki business and the Padalecki family, but it is history, it was long before my time here. Shortcomings were addressed and procedures are in place at all of our occupied premises which make them some of the safest places to work in the U.S. I should remind you that Padalecki Inc. has a strong legal team and we will contest all cases of libel that are brought to our attention. Please address further questions to our press office. Good afternoon.” It is an abrupt end and Jared pushes his way through Jeff, Alona and the doorman to step into the elevator on his own. He closes the door before anybody can join him and rests his head on the cool, reflective mirror glass. He needs time to think. Jared Padalecki doesn’t believe in coincidences.

His brother follows fast behind and is in Jared's office only minutes after him, “What the hell was that about Jared?” Jeff rounds on him angrily.

“Fucking sharks circling. Fuck ‘em!”

“Seriously! Are you cracking up? Is the stress getting to you? Do you need some time off?”

“You’d love that wouldn’t you?” Jared’s tone is sarcastic.

“You just went loco, scared some dirty tramp and threatened the entire media, like we have something to hide.”

“Maybe we do. I mean, do you even believe it?”

“Bro, what the hell are you suggesting? You think there’s some sort of conspiracy here?”

Jared sits heavily on his deep leather swivel chair. He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “I don’t know, but the guy who was there, the one I saw. There’s something ‘off’ about him. I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“Of course there’s something off about him Jared. He’s a goddamn freak and hobo. It don’t get more ‘off’ than that.”

“Leave me alone Jeff.” Jared is feeling inexplicably unsettled by the stranger’s presence and he’s not looking for an argument with his brother today.

“Gladly.” Jeff storms from the room muttering, “Headcase!”

Misha and Alona watch Jeff exit. Misha raises one eyebrow high. “Sibling rivalry,” he whispers. “Mint?” he asks as he rustles a paper bag at her, and she dips in for a smooth round sweet.

Alona sucks on the fiery candy while surreptitiously eyeing her boss. In eleven months she has never seen him lose his cool. She’s seen every variation of mean, cruel, angry, impatient and menacing but never this anxious and frustrated version. She quite likes it. It makes him almost human.

“Mr. Padalecki, Sir.” She slurps and tucks the mint into her cheek to speak up and both men look surprised. “The man with the dog, he’s familiar to everyone around here. You have seen him before. I believe you’ve petted his dog. Her name is Sadie. Kim sometimes takes the leftover food out to them after seminars or conferences.”

Jared looks to Misha for confirmation and is rewarded with a nod and a shrug. He leans forward, taking an interest. “What is his name?”

Alona shrugs, “Don’t rightly know, Sadie’s got a tag but he doesn’t.”

He scowls at the short answer and the next question is scathing. “So are you completely incapable of going on? Do I have to pull it out of you bit by bit; or isn’t there any more?”

“Well, he’s been around for longer than I’ve been here.”

Misha qualifies, “Best estimate, at least two years Jay.”

Alona continues, “He has a spot in the gardens, by the sidewalk or just under the overhanging shelter, it depends on the weather. He sits there most mornings, comes back again lunchtime and evenings.”

Jared looks confused, “But what does he _do_?”

“Sometimes he reads, or writes stuff in his little diary, I’ve seen him sketch. Mostly he watches.” Jared's gaze is intent and Alona comes to halt, nervously looping strands of her hair around her fingers.

The accountant comes to her rescue at last. “He’s homeless but he’s not any trouble. He doesn’t beg and he doesn't  seem to drink or do drugs. I never heard a sound from him before today. Didn’t think he could."  
  
Alona offers more, "I used to think he was simple but Kim says she's seen him complete The Times crossword, and he’ll always take the financial news to read, if it’s offered. He was probably curious and panicked because he’s not used to the attention.”

“Two years! Why? We fund those gardens. Why haven’t we had him arrested or moved on or whatever it is that you do to get rid of undesirables?”

Alona opens her mouth and Misha gestures that he’s got this. “Because he may be homeless but he’s not undesirable. He’s a part of the scenery and color around here. People are used to it and they like it. They like _him_ , the same as they like the rose bushes and that stupid lantern light by the kitsch bird bath. It makes our staff feel good to see him there and offer him a sandwich or a drink. It makes them smile. God knows, working here there’s little enough of that. Really, ignore him, there’s no need to make a fuss.”

Jared's assistant tries not to gape at Misha’s blunt criticism. Alona has never been party to a personal conversation between the CEO and his accountant. Non-professional lives are kept strictly behind closed doors, but neither of them seems to remember that right now.

“Fuck!” A real smile tugs at Jared’s lips, his eyes shine in amusement and Alona notices, for the first time, that he has dimples. “Padalecki Inc. is in a class of our fucking own, Mish. We have a living, breathing gnome in our garden. I bet none of our competitors can say that.” They laugh together and some of the tension dissipates. They all return to their work. Alona retrieves a stamped envelope from the outgoing mail and rips it to pieces before throwing it in the trash.

Jared’s drawl makes her jump, “Oh good. I’d hate to have to break in another secretary _and_ that stationary is company property. Since you have decided to stay, do us a favor and stop teasing Misha. If you’re going to disturb me by crunching on his candy all day, the least you can do is get him laid, or date, or whatever it is you heterosexuals do.”

And wow! She’s not sure how that happened. She thinks her mean and mirthless employer has just come out as gay to her, after making inappropriate suggestions about her relationship with his accountant, involving the phrase candy crunching. Alona is fairly certain that the expression on his face hides a self-satisfied smirk and it makes her all kinds of uneasy. She wonders if that was the intention.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wrong time, wrong place, wrong sight and wrong sound. Wrong, wrong, wrong._

Jensen crouches between trash cans with his back to the rest of the world. His hands cover his ears and his eyes are shut tight, nose screwed up with the effort. He rocks in rhythm, his head hits the wall with each beat and he breathes in time. Sadie circles, whimpers and paws at his knee. Suddenly, her ears prick up and she’s turned about and growling.

 

A tall blonde lady backs off with her bag of trash. She hooks her hand around the door from which she came, “Chris!” she yells. Her eyes don’t leave the human disaster in her view. “Christian! Get your ass out here now!”

 

Nobody joins her and she crouches to Sadie’s height and extends her hand cautiously. “Hey Girl. Good Girl. Gonna get help now.” She flicks her head to look at the man in motion. “You can get in at the other side. Do you want to come in? We've got warm pie and mash for dinner and you can get a bed for the night.” There’s no response.

 

“How difficult can it be to put the trash out?” A tall, well built man emerges from the door. He flicks his long dark hair behind his ear and Katie simply says, “Dog.”

 

He emerges fully, a cook’s apron around his waist and spoon in his hand. Behind him there are impatient shouts and he growls. “So put the trash in the can and we’ll call animal control later. We have a line.” He stops short when he sees Sadie, his voice hitches with a trace of panic. “Katie have you seen…”

 

Katie points to the gap between the bins, “…a man,” she completes his sentence. “You know them?”

 

Christian gives her the spoon, pulls his apron off and gives that to Katie too. “You carry on in there. I’ve got this.”

 

“Should I call an ambulance?”

 

“No, just go back in, see to the line.”

 

“Sorry, I didn’t know. I haven’t seen him before.”

 

He smiles at her. “You’re doing good. I’ve seen him on soup runs. He doesn’t come in. I’ve got it. Go!” Christian reaches in his pocket and finds a Hersheys bar. He drops to his hands and knees, breaks off a chunk and offers it to the dog. The snarl dies as she sniffs at him then takes the treat delicately between her lips.  He offers another piece and she takes it confidently. He pets her head and rubs at her ears, “Hey, Sadie. Your man seems to be struggling. Want to give me a hint?” Sadie fixes her brown eyes onto the tall, dark haired man and trots to beside Jensen. She whines and licks at her owner’s face.

 

“Dude. Your dog is a pushover for chocolate but I have a few chunks left if she’ll let you share.”

 

The rocking continues without a single change in momentum and even though he can’t see the tramp’s face, the shelter manager is experienced, remembers enough of the man’s traits to guess he’s lost inside his own head. Christian extends his hand cautiously toward the vagrant’s shoulder. “My name is Christian, do you remember me? You’ve hurt your head on the wall. I’m going to take a look. Just want to see you. Not going to hurt you. Okay.” The tone is low, reassuring and he continues with soft words as he approaches.

 

He doesn’t know how the dog will react but he needs to make contact. Sadie gives a half whimper and a snarl, she’s skittish but she doesn’t attack. Christian breathes a sigh of relief and gently pulls against the man’s shoulders to still his movement. He doesn’t know if he’s more freaked out by the self-destructive actions or the fact that this tramp is absolutely silent despite tears mixing with blood on his face.

 

The rocking continues against Christian’s hold but his head is no longer meeting the wall. He hears the man’s breathing speed up and everything about him tenses for a fight. “You need to listen, listen to me.” He hopes to hell this man can hear him because he’s not weak, the muscles that bunch under dirty clothes are strong and defined and Christian won’t be able to hold him off. He has had his fair share of black eyes for his charity and they don’t hurt any less than any other variety. “I have a job and a City License for this shelter. I have obligations and I cannot let you be alone if I think you are a danger to yourself or to anybody else. I know there are things you don’t want to happen. I know it. I’ve seen it. If you don’t want to be taken to the hospital you have to slow it down, you have to calm down.”

 

 

Jensen’s head hurts and the light is bright. He thinks he’s been away, somewhere, a place where he doesn’t think and nothing hurts. There’s a smell of floor cleaner and cabbage and he doesn’t like it. He can’t feel Sadie’s soft warmth but she’s there, nose to the glass just beyond this walled lobby. He’s in a squashy easy chair. It is warm and cozy and there is a steaming mug of sweet coffee in his hand which he thinks is for him. There is a cold breeze against his chin and a tight pull on his forehead. He puts fingers up to his chin and the skin there is smooth, clean shaven. He explores further and there is tape fixing a wad of cotton above his eyes.

 

“Sorry. There was a lot of blood. We had to be sure there were no other injuries.”

 

He squints up at the man with anxious green eyes. He’s familiar and Jensen remembers being given his name in this place. He’s familiar with him in his proper reality too. Christian drives the van that brings hot food and he always makes sure there is some left for him, even when Jensen is hanging back from the line and staying in the shadows. If he were here, Josh would say that Christian is a kind person. There’s a list he keeps of good people. He thinks he should put Christian on that list. He puts his hand out to feel for his bag and Christian lifts it for him. He feels inside and picks out a thick journal and a pen. He opens it to a well thumbed page with a list of names. He traces his fingers over each one fondly.

 

Ma                                                                                                    

Josh

Kim

Sophia

Chad

 

His tongue extends between his lips and he forms the letters carefully, he wants it to be perfect.

 

Christian

 

  
  
  
He puts the book away, drains his coffee and offers the empty cup to Christian.

 

Christian is shaking his head at him and smiling “Hey dude. You know my name, ain’t I good enough to know yours?”

 

Jensen purses his lips and thinks. Everyone else on his list knows his name, Christian should too. That is the right and consistent thing to do. He snatches the pen back out of his bag and takes Christian’s hand. Turning it palm up he writes three letters. JEN.

 

“Jen. Your name is Jen?” Christian has to ask.

 

Jensen nods. He stands and the ground is solid beneath him. He walks to the exit of the shelter because somehow he knows he is at the Market Street Shelter even if he doesn’t want to remember how he got here and doesn’t believe he’s ever been inside it before. Sometimes he believes wrong, but he doesn’t think it is relevant in the circumstances. Christian holds the door open for him.

 

“We kept a bed if you want to stay,” he offers, but Sadie is already at Jensen’s side and Christian knows Jen will not be without her. It catches Christian completely by surprise when Jen signs a word on his fingers and points at him. Christian has learned the basics of sign language for his work with the shelter, enough to recognize the ‘ _Thank you_.’

 

“You’re welcome.” He calls after him. “You be sure to c’mon in anytime for company, you don’t have to take a bed. Come back and see me.”

 

There’s no further response from Jensen.

 

It’s too late to find a place to sleep. Doorways are taken or unsuitable. There are weaving bums from bars, and hookers, their pimps and their clients to avoid. Jensen's hood is up, his head is down. He keeps an even pace and tries not to panic. Sadie keeps a protective distance at heel.  _Night is_   _necessary. Night leads to day_.  _Night is a reset button and when day comes Jensen’s world returns. Everything will be back in its place and he will have another chance to get it right._

 

There is only one place that feels safe. He climbs over the locked gate to the Padalecki Gardens and curls himself small in his sleeping bag, under the fake overhang. He keeps utterly still and will not use his flashlight. He doesn’t want cops to move him on. When the night blows too cold to sleep he buries his face in Sadie’s fur and comforts himself by stealing small glances at the Padalecki Building.  
  
The civic clock shines bright across the city with the big hand on twelve and the little hand on two when Jensen sits up straight and rubs at his eyes.  _Two big notches past the marker_ , he thinks,  _dark with moon and stars, so two o’clock in the night._  It is too dark to read his newspaper so he’s not sure what night it is. Nights, generally, don’t need progression markers. Well, in his experience perhaps they don’t, but in this one lights blink on behind the blinds of the Padalecki Building. They mark a trail up the stairs until there is a glow from the CEO’s office and then there’s another glow in another office. By the time the big hand of the clock exceeds two and has moved on to the three, the building is back in darkness. A figure fumbles at the security lock on the side gate and a dark car drives away. There’s another car that pulls out of the parking bay on the main street soon after but he’s not sure if it is related. The lobby is well lit and the night security guard hasn’t moved from his position at the front desk. Jensen thinks this might be significant but he has no way of telling if it is a regular occurrence. He decides he must use his flashlight after all. He quickly writes in his journal. Just in case. 

At 6:50 a.m. Chad comments on the dressing that is stark white on Jensen’s forehead. Jensen puts his fingers up to it and remembers that it is there. Chad is concerned, but the tramp signs, “It’s nothing,” and Chad doesn’t push for further details. There’s no swimming for Jensen with the recent injury, but they enter the building together and his friend sets him the task of replenishing supplies in the changing rooms, and lets him freshen up.

 

At 7:25 a.m. Jensen stops by the door of the gym and watches Jared Padalecki pacing steady on the treadmill, with his back to the entrance and deafened by his iPOD. He watches a bead of sweat trickle from Jared’s neck and slide down the nape of his neck to join a circle of damp staining his tee-shirt. Jensen’s eyes are wide and his breath has quickened. He chews at his bottom lip before quietly resuming his pace and exiting the sports centre. The Padalecki chauffeur waits in his limousine.

 

Jensen and Sadie walk through the bus station and he snags a daily paper and a crumpled dollar bill from the ground. A teenage girl stops to pet Sadie and offers the last bite of her burger which the dog gulps down appreciatively.

 

At 8:05 a.m. Jeff Padalecki walks up the steps to the entrance of the Padalecki Building and everything is in its place. Jensen takes a tattered photograph from a waterproof sachet in the pocket of his rucksack and he thinks that today might be the day. Today he might make things right.

The lady in the library has dry food and a bowl of water waiting in the lobby for Sadie. He thinks her own dog must be very fussy because every day there is something it refuses to eat, “that might just do for Sadie.” He takes off his outdoor coat, his shoes and the jogging pants he wears over his jeans, puts them in a plastic bag on a hook and tells Sadie to guard them. He brushes himself down to check that he’s not dusty.  _A good man doesn’t bring dirt indoors._ Sadie curls herself neatly in the corner by the baby stroller storage and rests her snout on her legs. She’ll be asleep within minutes if there are no children to amuse her. He studies the financial newspapers and then uses one of the library’s public computers.

 

Jensen returns to Padalecki Gardens at lunchtime and is relieved to see their CEO heading out for a walk. In Jensen’s opinion he doesn’t do that enough. Jared strides back an hour later, with a paper bag and coffee from Starbucks. Jensen briefly wonders why Jared stops at the steps of the building and gazes toward the gardens before making his way back inside. Jeff and Misha don’t emerge but some of the other office workers come and sit in the sun, drink Pepsi and chat excitedly about office affairs. Several of them bemoan the way that paperclips and pens disappear the moment you turn your back on your workspace. Jensen avoids their gaze but some of them smile and say hello. He concentrates on reading a thin volume of poetry and remembers not to make them feel awkward. Sadie wriggles her bum, wags her tail and accepts any attention she can get.

 

Soon after the last of the Padalecki employees go back to work, Jensen sees Sophia. She has a pen and paper in hand and a motorist is arguing with her and pointing at his car. Jen knows the motorist won’t win. Sure enough, he’s left with a ticket in his hand and a sour look on his face. The slight meter maid with the dark hair makes for his spot and slumps on the bench nearby. He greets her with a nod. She sighs and takes off a shoe to rub at her foot. “Man! Some people couldn’t read a road sign if it hit ‘em in the face. I am tuckered out and about ready for a break. How about you, Hon?”

 

He tucks his book away, puts his rucksack and roll on his back. They make for the greasy spoon a few hundred yards down the road. She mentions his wound briefly and he puts his hand to his head. He indicates that he is fine. No more to be said. Today he teaches her how to sign, “My feet hurt,” and “Turn right at the traffic lights.” He pays for his own lunch, an all day special, but lets her tuck a granola bar into his pocket and a bottle of Fanta in his rucksack. He blushes when Sophia admires his clean shaven face and tells him he’s handsome.

 

Once Sophia is refreshed and on her way so is Jensen. Some days he will seek out a few hours of casual labor at the local market for a few dollars reward, but he has checked in his journal and knows that today he must find a safe place to shelter after dark. His feet will hurt with the long walk in battered shoes, but blisters are the least of his worries. He studied the death notices and the property news in the library and looked up auctions on the computer. He’s memorized a list of places that currently stand empty and look promising.

 

By the time Jensen has earmarked an old warehouse and a basement apartment as probable places to sleep, most of Padalecki’s staff are home, cooking their dinner and watching TV. He returns to the gardens and waits for Jared, Jeff and Misha to leave. Jared is last. With a curt nod to the night watchman the CEO climbs in his limousine and waves his driver on.

 

Jensen packs up once more. Today wasn’t the right day but there’s always tomorrow. Somebody is walking two pom-pom cut poodles on the sidewalk. They whistle at their dogs and the dogs come to heel. Jensen wonders. He purses his lips and blows through his teeth. There’s a breathy exhalation with a faint high pitched noise, barely audible, even to his own ears but Sadie pricks up her ears in surprise and licks at his hand. He smiles and his tread seems lighter.


	4. Chapter 4

Jared is propping the blinds open with his fingers again and his attention is far away across the street. Alona slaps a file loudly on his desk and makes a deliberate cough.

“You should get something for that. It’s annoying,” Jared comments without turning around. “Get some lozenges when you’re out.”

Alona doesn’t want to ask but knows she has to, “Am I going out?”

“Take the company card. Buy me a pair of binoculars. Get a vanilla latte.”

“Grande? Venti?”

“It only comes in one size.”

“No, Starbucks has three sizes.”

“I don’t drink that crap. Get it from Black Medicine.”

Alona opens her mouth to protest that he brought in lunch from Starbucks, only two days ago, but she thinks better of it. She forces her lips together in a semblance of a smile instead, “Yes sir.”  She gathers her coat and handbag. “The insurance company have asked to meet with you. You said you would make it a priority, so I have pencilled it in for 4:00 this afternoon. Shall I organize our legal team to attend?”

“No. Just me, I want to keep this private for now.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

“Good. Thanks, Alona,” Jared speaks distractedly.

Alona’s step falters and she thinks her heart misses a beat. She wants to make him repeat the word because Jared Padalecki just _thanked_ her, _in name_. For some reason the giddy feeling allows her to bypass all precaution and sensibility. “Kim says his name is Jen. You could go down there and talk to him.”

Jared's shoulders slump slightly and the voice that replies is soft and regretful, “He might run away and then I’d never know.”

“Know what?”

“Why.” The tall man drops the blind back into place, his shoulders stiffen. He cracks his knuckles and turns back to his work with an icy expression.

The man the insurance company sends is nervous. He licks his lips and lets his eyes wander to the paintings that hang on the walls of the impersonal conference room. Jared makes him wait in reception until ten minutes after the proscribed time, not because he has anything better to do, but because he wants him to sweat.

The executive leans back into his chair in a relaxed pose while the insurance man continues to perspire, looking about the room in confusion when he sees that it is only the CEO present. He stutters, “Can I just..?” He produces a tape recorder and puts it on the table between them.

Jared picks up the device, looks curiously at it, then places it on the floor and crushes it underfoot. “No,” he says dispassionately. He looks at the man with a penetrating gaze. “Let’s cut the crap shall we? The police are already investigating the Linden fire. Their opinion will be the one that counts. If there are any findings against Padalecki then it will be more serious than the money you are so protective of.”

Jared stands and leans his huge hands on the table next to the man, his impressive frame looms over him and the insurance man dabs at his brow with a tissue. “Let us be clear. The police will find no proof against us and neither will you. We have paid our premiums and now, if you wish your reputation to remain undamaged, you will pay our damages in good faith. Take what time you need. Do not come back unless it is with a cheque.” The tone is dismissive and Jared flexes his substantial arm muscles as he pushes back from the sturdy wooden surface. “I have a business to run,” he says as he makes to leave the room.

Behind him there is the sound of a throat being cleared nervously but he doesn’t acknowledge the man who calls after him in a shaking, thin voice. “There was accelerant found at the scene. You can expect the police to be calling on you very soon, Mr. Padalecki.”

Jared grits his teeth but doesn’t allow his fists to furl, “Alona will show you out.”

His brother is waiting upstairs for him. Jeff’s face is set and his mood seems dark. “The insurance company sent a representative?” It is posed as a question.

“It was nothing,” he replies.

“He left under a cloud.”

“He didn’t like my attitude.”

Jeff Padalecki visibly brightens. “The Padalecki–patented attitude,” he grins.

“The one and only! Pa would be pleased.” Jared doesn’t mirror Jeff’s enthusiasm.

Jeff places a brotherly hand on Jared’s shoulder, “He wouldn’t know you!” he proudly exclaims.

Jared doesn’t let himself ponder on whether that is a good thing.

“We’re having a barbecue on Sunday, Bro. How about it? Just you, me, Lacey and the kids. Are you coming or do you have some mysterious engagement elsewhere?” Jeff is being overbearingly enthusiastic.

“My mistress is very demanding. She likes my figure but only if it is positive, with plenty of zeros after it.” It’s a standard and half-hearted excuse. He hates being reminded of his lonely, single existence and he’s resentful watching Jeff play happy families and biting back the lie of it all. In the end none of it matters because he’s an enthusiastic uncle and Lacey’s cooking is _to die for._

“All work and no play…”

“Yeah. Yeah. If there’s steak I’ll be there.”

Jeff thumps his younger brother’s back affectionately. “Good Man.”

The week after the insurance man visits, the crystal lens of Jared’s binoculars reflect the sunlight and Alona wonders how wise her ready purchase of the Nikon device was.

“He’s sketching.” The observation that Jared makes is general and undirected. His assistant keeps her head down and concentrates on formatting the figures Misha has mailed to her.

The next question, however, is directed at her and catches her off-guard. “What are you thinking about the figures? Did Misha say anything to you? I mean you two are fucking aren’t you?”

She looks at him and swallows. Her expression is one of a deer caught in headlights. He lowers the binoculars to the window ledge and crosses his arms. Alona knows she will be caught in a lie so she offers the truth. “Comparatively, they appear to be the lowest in ten years, Padalecki has barely broken even in this fiscal year but the overall profit doesn’t take into account the large scale modernisation that has been rolled out and is almost complete. This dip should be temporary and herald rapid growth in the next five years.”

“Huh. You should write the text for the annual report, or is that the blurb that Misha gave you.”

The blonde flicks her hair and looks defiant, “Some of it is text I suggested.”

“Good call.” Her boss shrugs. “Or you could say that I’m flying too close to the ground and it might all crash and burn as thoroughly as Linden, with as many casualties.”

Alona starts to compare her position in the company to being on a very small island surrounded by quicksand. One false step and she sinks. Jared doesn’t seem to notice. He only has eyes for the man with the green eyes, golden brown hair and freckled nose, who sits, with his dog, in the gardens across the street.

“Have we got any art paper and pastels or charcoal?”

His P.A. knows that she’s definitely stepped from the firm ground, metaphorically speaking, “Art?” she repeats back to him.

Jared is already moving, “Forget it. The marketing division is bound to have something.” He pokes his head back into her space from the corridor before he disappears from view. “Cancel my calls this afternoon. I won’t be back today.”

Alona's mouth drops open and she gapes after his back as he strides away with his perfectly fitted designer jacket swaying in time with his steps.

Jared has planned this. He approaches carefully, using his bulk to block the small gateway which he pulls-to and locks with a sturdy key. Unless this tramp vaults the railings there will be no ready escape. He doesn’t know what reaction to expect from the man sitting on his roll, on the grass, but it isn’t this calm, watchful gaze of deep green eyes and wow, they are vivid and a little disconcerting. The tall CEO bypasses the tramp and his dog without speaking and sits on a seat a few yards from them and facing them. The dog, Sadie, shuffles on her stomach to put herself between her Master and this stranger. Her ears are upright and brown eyes assess the hazard. The vagrant, _Jen_ , tangles his fingers into her fur, reassuringly petting her. He uses his other hand to turn the page of his journal, revealing a blank page.

Jared inhales deep and unrolls a thick sketch pad. He tears at cellophane with his teeth to release a set of brand new pastels. He pulls at the rolls of colour and feels them. They are smooth, cylindrical and comforting in his hand. His pulse slows as he lets himself be absorbed by his task. His tongue slides between his lips as his elegant fingers glide color over the page. He forms the proud jaw-line, high cheekbones, nose and the hair spikes with sun kissed highlights. Ears are added and the brunette businessman squints as he tries to perfect the pepper kissed skin and put all of the wide eyed shine and curiosity into the eyes, bordered with thick long lashes.

An hour passes in an instant, Jared's skin has cooled without notice and his subject hasn’t moved from his space on the ground. The businessman finishes his sketch with a swoosh and swirl of his signature. He clears his art materials into their box, wipes his pastel-tinged fingers in a tissue and then eases the paper from the pad and turns it for his subject to see. He stands and approaches Jen with easy confidence, stooping to be level with him. Jared takes in Jen's natural beauty and revels in the man’s fresh, spicy, but not unclean, fragrance. The vagrant’s nails are impeccably clean and Jared knows none of it makes sense. The man doesn't flinch, but his eyes don’t quite meet Jared's either. A journal rests on his  knee and he has drawn a pencil sketch of Jared, sitting on the bench engrossed in his own portrait.

Jared speaks, "It’s good. Perhaps a little too perfect. I don’t think I’m as pretty as that.”  
  
It’s the first noise either of them has made and Jen startles, as if he hadn’t noticed Jared before. He shuts his journal and hugs it into his chest which is rising and falling too rapidly.  
  
“Mine, on the other hand, doesn’t do you justice.” The businessman offers the sketch in outstretched fingers. Jen snatches it from him and studies it with inscrutable expression before purposefully offering it back. He doesn’t want to keep it.

Jared drops the box of pastels and the sketch pad by the vagrant’s side. “You should have these. You have the better skill.” He glances at his art again and adds, “It’s a good enough likeness. Soon maybe, you will tell me what you are doing here, because one way or another I will find out, and some methods are more painful than others.” He unlocks the gate and walks down the street, away from Padalecki Inc. and the man who stalks him.

Jim Beaver calls himself a PI. It’s a hell of a sight easier than defining what he actually does. Truth is, he enables things, acts as a middle man and fixes things. ‘ _Things,’_ being situations or people. If it don’t precisely stay within the lines of what is legal then that is none of anyone’s business and it is best not to speak of it. Jim had wanted to meet at Starbucks again but Jared refused, with oddly adamant remarks about commercial evils. They are therefore seated at a rustic wooden table in a dark corner of the bohemian ‘Black Medicine’ Coffee House, surrounded by earnest creative types in tie-dye skirts and batik shirts, discussing Oscar Wilde and Guggenheim.

Jared is surprisingly laid back in the surroundings so Jim allows himself to relax and present his findings. They order coffee and muffins then he pushes a file at the CEO of Padalecki Inc. The stocky, bearded, PI leans over the table toward him as the tall man scans the information.

Jared frowns but the information isn’t unexpected, “Arson,” he states flatly.

“The cops are coming after Padalecki with big guns blazing. They’ve already pulled the files for three other incidents on your premises.”

Hazel eyes look searchingly at him, “Becks?” the tall man asks.

“Now, why would you ask that, son?”

The answer is little more than a shake of the head and rolled eyes. Jared continues reading, dropping fine sticky crumbs as he bites at his blueberry muffin and sips at his coffee. When he is finished with the file he closes it emphatically and his fingers rub at the bridge of his nose. “This shouldn’t be,” he says.

“It shouldn’t, but you already knew it, Jay and I have to say, coming to me, I’m thinking you’re all out of people you can rely on.” He leans in further, “You don’t even trust your own brother do you?”

Jared stands, “I have to go to the men’s room,” he states. He makes his way to the rest room and back, using the trip to scrutinize every person in the building and then scan the view through the window. As he settles into his chair opposite Jim Beaver he takes a packet from his jacket pocket and slides it over the smooth polished surface, “$100,000. Make it go away.”

Jim pushes it back to him with two fingers. “Your Pa’s tactics ain’t gonna win you this fight Jay.”

“You never would have refused him.”

“Mebbe I like you a whole lot better,” Jim raises his cup in salute. “ ’sides, if this fire weren’t your doing, then whoever did it expects you to make this move. They are waiting to call you on it. Think about it Jay. How many gallons of cooking oil were still in the Linden factory when it went up? Now tell me why anyone would need to use accelerant unless they wanted it to be found?”

Jared puts his face in his hands and rubs his thumbs against his temples.

“How are the figures for your second fiscal year Jay?” Jim swings back on his chair. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous son, but your Pa made no pretence of liking you, so what was the deal with him giving you the business on his deathbed, over your brother, the son he adored?”

Jim is expecting a world famous Padalecki stare. Instead, the man opposite him looks as if the air has been punched from him. “It’s none of your business Beaver.”

“No Jay, it’s your business, which brings me to the next item on my agenda and I have to say it, or rather _he_ is an absolutely fascinating study. If you were worried about what was in my previous folder then you might not want to open this can of worms.”

Jared pauses for the waitress to top up their mugs of coffee and move on before opening the next file. He lifts and reads paper after paper. He is biting his lip and scowling at the information.”

“I don’t understand,” he shakes his head as he speaks.

“No, can’t say I do either. Absolutely bloody incredible! And a whole lot crazy. Please tell me you have contacted the cops and you are taking this guy seriously.”

“I didn’t notice him until recently. He seems harmless enough. He sketches. We did some sketching, together, earlier today,” Jared produces his portrait of Jen with boyish enthusiasm.

“Nice. Does he sketch you in the gym each morning? Or perhaps when you turn out your light last thing at night,” Jared’s eyelashes part wide around his hazel eyes as Jim dangles a photograph in his hand of Jen leaving the sports centre, past his limousine. The image below it shows the man under a street lamp opposite his house, just blocks from the Padalecki Inc. offices. “Don’t feel too special,” the PI picks up more pictures, one of Jen outside the gentleman’s club that Jeff frequents. Another with him close to Misha’s apartment. Finally, he shows a photograph of Jen entering the public library. “Do you know what this guy does when he’s not watching Padalecki Inc.?”

Jared glances at the picture, “Presumably he reads.”

“Yes, yes he does. Sometimes he likes poetry or travel. He often uses educational texts or online courses in maths, accountancy, business and finance. Mostly, however, his library usage is narrowed to a specific topic.”

“That would be?” Jared huffs, he’s tired of Jim’s game.

“Padalecki Inc. He researches every public financial detail, transaction, rumor or piece of gossip. He knows every rival, the details of each member of each board in every business who either deals with Padalecki or opposes Padalecki Inc.”

“Who is he? Who is he working for?”

“So far I got no leads on that. He’s homeless, currently squatting, very neat and tidy, in an apartment which is tied up in probate. He survives on donations, dumpster diving and the proceeds of a few hours work at the market each week. He lives simply and clean. No drugs, no booze, no friends, no extraneous possessions. More important, he has no name and no history. He’s not wanted and he’s not missing. His prints and his face are not in the system. He has a dog. He doesn’t speak but he can sign and he’s not deaf. He doesn’t interact well with others and most people who do get a response assume he has learning difficulties.”

“Does he have learning difficulties?”

“Well, he ain’t normal in the normal sense and his routine is the stuff of OCD. You can time his activities to the minute, but he ain’t stupid. The coursework and textbooks he uses in the library are from the advanced education sections.”

“Wow.” Jared sits back in his seat, speechless. He is silent for more than a few minutes, sifting through the PI’s images of the vagrant. He picks one out, just a simple picture of the man and his dog, staring unknowingly into the camera lens. _He could be a model_ he thinks. He runs his finger over the paper. “Can I keep this?” he asks.

“You paid for it.” Jim replies.

“Do you think he’s dangerous Jim?”

“It’s not healthy, son. You need to deal with him. He doesn’t exist so it ain’t gonna be hard to make him disappear. Do you want me to organize it?”

Jared steeples his fingers and rubs at his face as he considers the proposition. “No. I’ve got it. See what else you can dig up.”

“And the other business?”

“Let it run its natural course.” Jared pushes the folders back at the older man and the PI stashes them back in his bag.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Padalecki.”

“Yeah, wish I could say the same.”

They leave separately and head in different directions.  
  
  


 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Jared doesn’t return to work that afternoon and Jensen doesn’t know what it means. He has a drawing of him in his journal. It shows the youngest Padalecki sitting on the seat under the overhang. Jensen believes it is an accurate depiction. The man was within his grasp. He could have reached out to touch, but the pictures in his head tell him that he didn’t. He had the boy, Jensen shakes his head no, _man,_ in his space and his reality and still he didn’t. The _pathetic retard_ couldn’t do it. He tells himself it wasn’t the right time. It was just Jared and that wouldn’t do. It was all of them, together, or nothing. It would be for Josh and it would be done right.

There’s a picture in his head, a woman making noises blowing through teeth. Jensen shuts his eyes and he concentrates so hard the skin around his eyes crinkles. He grimaces, puts his tongue to the top of his mouth, careful to tuck it behind his teeth and he huffs with everything he has in his lungs. There’s the barest suggestion of a hiss. Sadie blinks and turns to him but Jensen slumps in disappointment. It is all out of order and he’s not sure what comes next.

One moment he’s in Padalecki Gardens and the next he is on a familiar footpath and there’s wire fencing, mud and the blackened shell of a building and _it’s_ all _wrong, wrong, wrong_ because there should be a building here. It doesn’t stop him from rolling up a corner of wire and creeping underneath. He turns three hundred and sixty degrees, slowly, repeatedly, with his eyes closed and his arms outstretched. The sound of sirens, and gushing water, the smell of charred wood, scorched brick and roasted flesh assault his mind.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Jensen’s eyes snap open and he stops spinning on his feet but his head continues in its whirl.

“I’ll have to ask you to move to the other side of the barrier. This is private property and a crime scene under investigation.”

Jensen tips his head in the direction of the man’s car, parked on the hard standing. The man tries to gain his attention or meet his eye but Jensen doesn’t acknowledge him. He furrows his brow and takes his rucksack from his back, reaches in for his journal. The man flinches and then waves his hand by the vagrant’s face, to no response. Sadie growls and her lip curls into a snarl. He backs off. “Are you alright, man?”

Jensen makes a beeline for the green car. He skirts it and then traces the tire marks across the mud. He stands and squints at the remains of the building. He turns his journal back several pages and walks purposefully toward what used to be the rear of the building. “Hey! You! You can’t do that.” The man waves his mobile in the air. “I’m calling the cops.” He chases after him keeping just far enough behind to avoid Sadie’s wrath. He stops and gapes as Jensen crouches to run his fingers over the faintest trace of an imprint in the mud. He raises his head and his gaze follows the devastated and muddied delivery route to the sealed trade exit. The investigator can see over Jensen’s shoulder as he crouches. There is a sketch of the Linden building in dark shadow, the rough outline of a car and a list on the page that is open.

Porsche Cayenne 2011  
Cool grey 6

Jensen shakes his head. This reality is pages back in his journal. It is many pieces of paper in his past and he needs to be back on the right page. He flicks his way through countless lists, times and sketches until he reaches a blank page. He flicks back a page from the plain white, to a sketch of Jared Padalecki. There is a loud gasp behind him and he’s looking up into a stranger’s face. The man is flushed, excited for some reason and reaching a strong hand to grab at him. _You don’t stand for it Jen. Nobody has the right to touch you. Curl your fist, that’s it, now, feel it all the way from your feet. You punch with your whole body. Draw back. You don’t need to see it to feel it._ He closes his eyes and senses the shadow of his brother, tall and protective, by his side. Sadie pounces as Jensen’s fist flies and the man goes down with a sharp yelp and crack of knuckle against bone, into the squish and slime of the mud. The man flails helpless and dizzy, Jensen grabs Sadie and he’s running, racing to squash under the fence with his heart beating fit to burst and skin crawling with _the bad_. Josh is long gone and Jensen knows he’s not right. He’s never been right, and the only future he has is a small windowless cell.

Jared walks home. He hasn’t walked like this for years. His shoes pinch and he wonders at the irony of it. Shoes barely worn, bought for hundreds of dollars and they take him no further than the holed and taped shoes of the mysterious man who watches him. He lets himself into his sleek steel and glass house and shouts, “Lorretta! Just me.” His housekeeper won’t be expecting him back this early and he doesn’t want to scare her.

“Mr. P. You are early.”

“I have a headache. You can leave now.”

“But I have a lasagne in the oven. You work too hard, Mr. P. You should sit and I will find you something for that headache.” The olive-skinned lady bustles around him, waving an oven glove at him.

“Lorretta. Really. You can put the oven on a timer. I am perfectly capable of serving my own dinner.” He allows himself to be shooed to the soft leather recliner. He sinks into its comfort and closes his eyes. The headache isn’t a lie. A tense pain is worrying behind his eyes and he can’t stop the doubts that refuse to allow him a moment’s peace.

Cool, hard plastic is placed in his hand and he opens one hazel eye. “Jeffrey has been very worried about you. He has been calling all afternoon.” Lorretta raises her eyebrows and gives him a fierce glare with deep brown eyes. He curls his lip in a wry grin. “Right, yeah.” He presses the pre-set and waves Lorretta back into the kitchen. He hears the ring tone and thinks better of it. He hangs up and presses a different button.

“Alona. Yeah, it’s me. No, I’m fine, I had a headache, took some air. I’m at home now. Let Jeff know for me and cancel the limo. Tell Misha I won’t be over for the game tonight. Can you forward anything urgent to my email and I’ll catch it here?”

Alona is sitting with the blinds open and a pair of binoculars at her side. Her hand is dipping into a bag of hard candy and she’s wondering when she lost her sanity and whether it has anything to do with the lean, muscular and very fine body of her boss’s best friend. “Sir,” she says tentatively. Jared is silent but she can hear his breath catch, Alona doesn’t generally speak unless she’s asked. “I don’t know what you said to the tramp at lunchtime but it worked. He hasn’t been back.”

Jared is shocked by his own reaction. It is cold disappointment and worry. He has no idea why that should be. He doesn’t speak for a long moment. The, “Excellent!” that finally passes his lips isn’t convincing to either of them.

“He’s very good looking,” she adds, “if you like that sort of thing.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Jared says, but he knows he has. He has been wondering about the firm planes that lie beneath Jen’s dirty clothing, speculating what the clean nails might feel like as they scratch lines into his skin, imagining how the quiet tongue would lick and kiss. It occurs to him that after two years with only his left hand for relief, anybody remotely capable of getting a five o’clock shadow is going to be attractive to him. That it happens to his stalker that sparks these thoughts is only slightly more disturbing.

_Liar_ , is the first word that crosses Alona’s mind but she bites her tongue. She sticks to her job for a moment, “Your brother was worried about you. He said to tell you that he’d be fine to cover for a few days if you’re ill and Misha ...” she pauses for a moment because Misha had seemed concerned in an entirely different way to Jeff. She may only have been dating him for a few days but he had been in a peculiar mood all afternoon, “Misha told me to remind you that he’s got your back.”

Jared grunts, “Right,” is his only reply and Alona senses sarcasm. “Well, I suppose you’ll be sneaking away early to play. Make sure you’ve finished my report before leaving. Oh, and cancel my limo for the rest of the week. I’ll be walking.” The line goes dead as he abruptly rings off, but that’s not unusual for Jared. He’s said everything he wants to say and Alona doesn’t expect courtesies from him.

Alona checks the clock and it’s after five. She grits her teeth and resumes typing. Misha interrupts her at six, turns off her computer and crowds her against the desk for a sweet kiss that deepens into a sloppy, wet and hot, tongue fuck. She moans and throws her arms about his neck allowing him to pull her to her feet with one arm, while she reaches for her coat and bag with the other. “Since the boss has stood me up, I think I should take the boss’s personal assistant somewhere more private, to test her personal skills.”

“Hmm, dinner. I’m amenable to that.” Her eyes shine and Misha squeezes her into a hug.

Misha stares into the gardens as they leave and Alona follows his gaze but there is nobody there. “I know this great little Italian restaurant,” she says as he ushers her into the limo.

Jensen checks the thin cotton strand fixed over the door and scouts the exterior of the apartment for changes. He’s jumpy and anxious and he follows his precautions two more times before he is content that nobody has taken an interest in his sleeping place. He pulls the key, on its chain, through the letterbox, and opens the door. The lobby smells of old lady and damp walls. He removes his boots and his outer clothes with care. _Don’t bring evidence inside_. Sadie has no such concern. She scampers inside leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the cold and cracked tiled floor. Jensen considers the chain and the lock that proved so easy to force. He wonders if he should write a note for the next occupant. It might be a pensioner, and he knows how vulnerable such a practise would leave them. _Old ladies, easy pickings, boy_.

The interior is dingy and damp but it is warm enough and a few pieces of rough furniture remain. A rickety wooden chair stands next to a fading-yellow formica covered table. That in itself is a luxury, but the main room also contains a large, squashy easy chair. It smells of lavender water and urine but it is dry and accommodating. It makes a cozy bed with his blanket as a cover and his sleeping bag for warmth.

Jensen reaches under the sink to turn the mains water supply on. He fills the sink with cold water and adds a drop of detergent from a mostly empty bottle of Sunlight Liquid he found in the trash. He takes two rags and wets one of them. He squeezes the cloth and then starts to work a regular circular pattern on the surfaces. He scrubs meticulously with the wet cloth, not a patch missed and follows the same pattern with the dry rag. Sadie’s eyes droop and she snores gently. Jensen works earnestly, _cleanliness is next to godliness._ He wipes the window sills, the kitchen sides, the formica table and then the skirting board. The next hour is spent cleaning the wood and tile floor. When he’s finished he lets the dirty water drain before drawing water to drink and then turning the water supply back off. He rolls his neck to flex his muscles and breathes out, relaxed and calm.

He reaches into a pocket and counts out exactly a dollar and twenty two cents and stacks it on the kitchen surface. He lines it up precisely with the numerous other stacks of one dollar and twenty two cents, shuffling it carefully so they are strictly lined up. Jensen researched the cost of water supplied to these apartments. He knows it is wrong to steal and cheat, he learned it with the pain of a strap and constant harsh reminders from his mama and her preacher. He has researched the yearly water charges for these apartments and every day he pays for his consumption. Passing time in an empty space takes nothing so he feels no compulsion to pay for his presence here.  
  
By evening Jensen is back in routine, satisfied and optimistic. He slaps his thigh to beckon Sadie, struggles into his outer wear and leaves the apartment after the third check of his precautions. He has consulted his journal and today is Wednesday. Jeff will be at home with his wife and his house is in the suburbs, too far to walk. Misha interests him less lately and he is likely to be out getting flirty with Alona. Jared though, Jared was close enough to touch and then he went away and didn't come back. Jensen feels an overwhelming need to check that the man is safe in his home, following his own schedule. The idea of losing him now, after all this time and effort makes his ribs feel too tight around his lungs.

Jensen has a place in the shadows where the glow of Jared’s bedroom lamp can be seen spilling soft through the pane onto the neatly trimmed lawn. The tall brunette rarely closes his blinds before he strips for bed and Jensen has watched his dark shadow numerous times, with intense concentration. Jared doesn't wear anything when he slips between the smooth, clean sheets. Jensen tries to imagine the luxury of it, the plush carpet cushioning his toes as he steps up and then the laundry-fresh fabric sliding and caressing the smooth expanse of skin. He reaches a hand to palm at his crotch as he watches Jared stretch and bend. The man’s muscles flex and his round ass tilts perfectly. Jensen’s pulse increases and he averts his eyes. This should be enough, to know that Jared Padalecki is here and that he is not going anywhere that Jensen cannot follow.

  
Jared is a physically beautiful man and Jensen understands his natural reaction to it. From the first night that Jensen had cried, sitting in the damp puddle of his wet dreams, Josh had taken time to work out his retarded little brother’s desires. They had looked at picture books and magazines of naked men and his brother had explained attraction and sex and the sticky, panting, mechanics of it. Jensen had signed a silent oath, over his heart, never to tell their mama about these conversations, or how the male form made him hard and needy.  
  
In the time after Josh and before this, he thinks there were moving pictures on a screen, lewd films of men on cable TV.  He jerked off to them, in the shabby sheets of his wrecked bed, in the trailer where his mother sat listlessly, staring into blank space. Of course, Jensen wasn't able to keep his sexuality secret from his mother for long, but she was wrecked by all the ways Jensen was wrong, years before _that_ made him irredeemable.

Jensen snaps back to the present and has to re-familiarize himself with his current reality. He’s under the dark canopy of a tree watching Jared and he cannot help his bug-eyed shock as he stares through the window. Air is hitching in his throat and he’s rooted to the spot, mouth slightly agape, green eyes wide between his lashes with his cheeks coloring pink.

Jared stands tall, full-frontal and naked, back-lit, at the window. His cock curls proud and erect to his stomach and he is licking a slow wet stripe over his palm, before reaching to grasp its width and slide his hand slowly up the length of it with knowing showmanship. His hand is huge on the swollen member and Jensen unconsciously licks his lips. The fingers are sliding again, they move down to the root and dally by the heavy hanging balls, stroking between the powerful thighs before returning with a firm stroke and a twist at the bulbous head. Fingers return to the wide, wet mouth and are sucked in with lascivious enthusiasm. Jensen’s hand has slipped into the waistband of his trousers and he doesn’t want to be doing this. He is revolted that he is affected this way, but his fingers are gripping his own hardening dick with an irresistible urge to masturbate, hard and fast. He can’t tear his eyes away from the view. He pumps hard at his own erection as he watches Jared’s saliva-slick fingers return to his cock and his forefinger traces around the head and over the slit before returning to his mouth. Jensen can imagine the sloppy wet noises, the round drop of clear fluid and burst of taste on Jared’s tongue and he’s panting with his own exertion. He’s not sure when he notices the tilt of Jared’s face and direction of his gaze. Between heated gasps he works out the physics of the angle and knows the brunette is looking to the very place where Jensen is standing but he’s too far gone to move, not yet.

Jared has picked up pace, fucking into his own hand with ever increasing rhythm and when his mouth opens wide and he throws his head back to reveal an expanse of neck, Jensen is gone too, coming with a silent scream and an overload of sensations. He spills thick come into his hand and tries to contain it, so it doesn’t dry crusty on one of only two pieces of underwear he owns. His hand is warm and sticky, ripe with the smell of sex, and he’s ashamed and dizzy. He offers his fingers to Sadie and lets her lap at the fluid, erasing the obscene evidence of his act, before he stumbles and trips from his hiding place, desperate to get away from whatever it is that has happened here. His mind is trying to close off. He wants to shut his eyes and pretend he doesn’t exist but he does, he is real and he can be seen. He thinks that he has been seen. It is all a muddle and nonsense and he hates that Jared has played this game with him and defiled him this way. He hates how good it feels.

Jared cleans himself with a towel. He smirks at the memory of a vague shape sprawling to the sidewalk and then picking itself back up before fleeing into the night. He had seen the faintest movement in the bushes and he’d known that the tramp, Jen, was there. Exhibitionism has never been Jared’s thing and he wonders what possessed him to do it. The obvious answer is his horny, dissatisfied and restless boredom. It was unwise and inflammatory but it was unexpectedly powerful, dangerous and erotic. He came harder than he had in months, imagining vivid green eyes looking up at him as plump pink lips sucked down everything he had to give.

The irony of his stalker’s presence giving him an orgasm which lulls him into a blissfully drowsy state doesn’t escape Jared. He slips between the covers of his gigantic and sturdy bed and stretches out to sleep.  
  


 


	6. Chapter 6

_There’s a place they will take you. There is a home with no parents, with white walls and locked doors. Stay in the shadows, son. Stay clean. Stay quiet. Stay hidden._

Night gives Jensen respite and resets his world, but he knows that the reality he has woken to can never be the same as it was. Jensen has broken the rules, tampered with what keeps him safe. He should follow his schedule, but it is out of sequence. Josh taught him the importance of planning and routine. It stops his _inappropriate behaviour_ , keeps his mind from wandering and prevents time from jumping. He has the day and date marked in his journal but he’s not sure if he marked off one too many numbers or has forgotten a week. He should find the newspaper stand, the newspaper is always correct. He needs to eat, his stomach grumbles noisily and he feels dizzy.

He has to focus.

Jensen stands in a metal-lined vault, under the gaze of cameras and the glare of fluorescent lights. He closes his eyes and sniffs at the disinfected air pumping from the vents. He spins 360 degrees, with his arms spread, while holding a thick, sealed envelope in his fingers. He absorbs the silence, the smell and the cool breeze on the hairs of his arms. When he halts, dizzy and breathless, he knows he must open the solid crate that he has slid from it’s storage among the stacks of numbered safe deposit boxes. He takes it into the booth, a good, secure, hidden, place. He turns the key and pries open the lid and stares down at the contents. He lifts out a few of the envelopes. In each is sealed a stack of ink marked paper, removed from the gripping metal jaws of his journal when it has become so full of paper that it bulges and their hold becomes tenuous. There are so many envelopes, they practically spill from the box. Has he failed so many times? Wasted so many days?  He runs his fingers over the envelopes and then delves deeper, below the plain brown envelopes. He uses his nails to scrape along the sharp, even edge of reams of paper notes, catching on the elastic bands that keep them secure and accounted for. After he’s finished he puts everything back, in date order, locks it back up and slots it in its rightful space.

When Jensen pushes through the rotating door of the bank, to feel fresh air on his face, he knows he should move away from the places where he has become visible. He must melt into the dark edges of society to become faceless once more. 

Alona thinks she might go mad and use a letter opener to savagely disfigure her boss. It is less than a month until the annual accounts are finalized and Jared Padalecki CEO is being unbearable. He is closeted in his office, door closed and unavailable, deep in discussion with her boyfriend, yet again. It is going to be another day when Misha leaves the office late, with less sex drive than a sloth and it is simply unreasonable. Jared already knows every cent that moves in this company, every day of the year. She has never worked with anyone who has such a close eye on the profit margins. Today she has sent out final reminders to all outstanding debtors and contacted a barely legal and intimidating debt collection agency to aid their priorities because Padalecki Inc. doesn’t tolerate late payment. It’s not a task which gives her a warm glow of satisfaction.

It's not like Alona can see a problem with the numbers. Padalecki has completed a major modernization program which elevated costs for this fiscal year but they are still on target to break even or at worst, make a negligible loss of around $300,000. She’s worked with companies where that would have been reason to break out champagne and do a very drunken conga, but Jared Padalecki is pacing the building like a hungry lion in a herd of gazelle. Every now and again he roars and workers scatter in all directions. Speaking of which;

“Alona. We haven’t had any coffee for hours. What are you doing out there?” Jared is peering through the doorway.

“Please Al,” Misha flashes his baby blue eyes at her.

_Sex_. She thinks. _I better be getting sex for all this trouble I go to_.

Misha senses her frustration or perhaps he sees the white knuckled clutch of her hand around a stapler which could easily become airborne. “We should leave early today. Have a quiet night in with some movies and chocolate. What do you think Al?”

There’s a mirthless chuckle from Jared. “Is this a request to leave early because you’ll never get in her panties while I’m riding your ass?”

Misha pokes him in the ribs. “No. It’s a statement that I will be leaving on time and taking your gorgeous, underappreciated assistant with me. That you lack any sort of manners or love life is not my problem.”

Jared’s personal storm cloud darkens. His lips thin and his eyes glitter dangerously. He looks unconsciously to the window where the Nikon binoculars lie, seemingly abandoned, on the sill, but Alona knows they’re not. She’s seen him scanning the gardens and the street and observed his disappointed expression when Jen still isn’t there. It amuses her that there are endless people who will ask, “How high?” when he says “Jump,” but the one person he has been searching for, more than any other, doesn’t give a damn about him. Alona makes fresh coffee with a smile on her lips and doesn’t consider the inclusion of rat poison this time.

She places coffee on Jared’s desk and before she can scurry out there are instructions being barked at her.

“Find the list price for my limo and get a buyer. I want the cash for it, this week. No less than $70,000,” Jared is offhand and Alona has to stop and think about it. “Your limo? You are selling your limousine?”

“Are you deaf or stupid? It is a company asset and I don’t need it. Sell it.”

Alona’s eyes widen. “What should I tell your driver, sir?”

“Well, obviously, _you’re no longer needed,_ is the line that comes to mind. Have a check made out for the minimum mandatory sum. Send him a note. Services no longer required, appreciate your service, etcetera, etcetera.”

Alona bites her tongue before she can mention the man’s young family but Jared pre-empts her, “He’ll be snapped up by somebody. He’s worked for me, he can work for anyone.” Next, Jared flings a file at her, “Travel requisitions,” he says, “Have admin. downgrade everyone asking for first to business or from business to coach class and find more reasonable accommodations.”

Alona shifts on the balls of her feet and grimaces “There are requisitions for Jeff and yourself in there, sir. Will you be authorizing them separately?”

“Downgrade us too and find out whether Jeff wants to continue using his limo or if he would rather keep his Cayenne. He can have one; we’ll sell the other.

Alona thinks she may be gaping a little, she glances nervously at Misha who gives her his best _we’ll talk about it later_ look. She bumps into the door handle, giving a little yelp, in her hurry to escape the awkward atmosphere. She would breathe a sigh of relief as she closes the door, but she has a feeling that Jeff Padalecki hasn’t been informed of Jared’s plans yet.

As it happens, Jared’s cost cutting measures are superseded in spectacular fashion but it doesn’t mean that Jeffrey Padalecki is any less furious. Kim calls on the internal line, her voice high and panicky. “Al, you need to get Jared down to reception, right now.”

“He’s in a meeting,” Alona huffs.

“Whatever it is, it’s not more important than this. Al, we’ve got an insurance investigator and cops with a search warrant down here.”

Alona doesn’t have to tell Jared anything, he’s already racing past her to the corridor. “Get hold of our lawyer, Al. Now!”

Jeff is red with rage and waving a formal piece of paper in the air when Jared arrives in reception. The senior police officer introduces himself as Detective Pearson and holds out his hand in greeting. Jared doesn’t even acknowledge him.

“We should move this somewhere more private,” comments Jared, herding the wary investigator and the cops toward a side room. Two of the cops are wearing coats emblazoned with the word FORENSICS and Jared thinks it cannot be a good sign. The insurance investigator is the same one who has already met Jared. He gulps and the side of his mouth starts to twitch when he notices the deadly glare that the CEO flashes at him while everyone else is distracted.

The lawyer estimates he can be there in an hour, but the cops don’t want to wait. In fact they won’t wait and don’t have to, so Jared grabs at the documentation and scans it, reading quickly. His brows knit in obvious confusion, “You are going to search the basement and seize our cars. Why?”

Pearson replies, “Only the Porsche Cayennes. You have two. We have reason to believe that there was a Porsche Cayenne at the Linden crime scene. There were tracks consistent with the model and a potential witness. It seems sensible to rule out the ones in the Padalecki fleet.”

Jeff is opening his mouth, “You can’t…”

Jared lays his hand firmly on his brother’s arm. It is more a gesture of warning than reassurance. “They can. I’m not using mine. Are you?”

Jeff is trembling and now Jared’s hand starts to stroke down his forearm, brotherly and warm, “No, I er, I’ve been using the limo.”

“Let it go Jeff. Honestly, I was about to sell the stupid thing anyhow. Let them have their fun and waste tax payers’ money. We have nothing to hide.” He turns to address the cops next, studiously ignoring the investigator, “We’re prepared to co-operate in any way we can but if you wish to talk to my brother or I, or any of our staff then you will have to wait until there is legal representation.”

“It’s just about ruling your vehicles out at the moment, sir.” The lady from forensics seems relieved by Jared’s calm handling of the situation.

“Good. Leave the basement in good order or I will put a complaint in to the Chief. Please be aware that any mileage you put on the vehicles will be charged at rental rates. Damage will need to be compensated for. My assistant has a set of keys for both cars and the log books. It is not beyond possibility that either car has been used by senior staff to visit Linden. We own the property and there have been numerous visits. When we are not using our cars, they are available as a pooled resource.” His voice is ice cold and condescending.

The forensics lady speaks again, “Can you give us some idea when you last used your Cayenne?”

Jared rolls his eyes up to the side, trying to calculate it. “Oh, I don’t know. Months  ago? Jeff?”

Jeff grits his teeth as he speaks, “A few weeks ago. It’ll be in the log book.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have a busy schedule,” Jared dismisses them with a shooing motion to the door.

Jeff digs his heels in, “We should accompany them, check what they’re doing.”

Jared sighs and shakes his head. He looks directly at the insurance investigator, “Are you going to plant incriminating evidence?” he asks with fake weariness.

The man shakes his head, wide eyed and timid, “No, sir.”

“There. Good. Now. Can we all move on?” He guides Jeff back to the managing director’s office and asks Kim to bring him a brandy. He takes his brother and the brandy through to the inner, soundproof office and locks the door.

Jared leans one shoulder against the wall and crosses his arms, “What did you do Jeff?”

“Me!” Jeff looks shocked and points at his own chest. “Nothing! You’re the one…” he points at his brother.

Jared’s voice is louder now and he’s clearly ruffled, “Why? Why would I have done anything?”

Jeff sits heavily and puts his head in his hand. “You’re so fucking competitive! These last two years I hardly know you Jay. You want this so bad and I can’t even figure out why. You’re enjoying it. You’ve become Pa and you’re revelling in it. I crunched the numbers and you’re so close. Linden was holding you back. Right now, you’re on the ropes and I don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t do.”

“Fuck you!” Jared is clenching and unclenching his fists, taut with rage. “How can you even...? Everything I have done has been fair and legal. Everything! And I’m not done for yet. It’s not game over yet.” He snatches the glass of brandy from Jeff’s hand and drains it in one swallow. “Fire, really? You want to accuse me of that? I think we both know it’s not the sort of scheme _I_ think up.” He sneers at his big brother. “You want to keep panicking and give them reasons to investigate further, you go ahead.”

Jared Padalecki is in a rage, he’s 6’4” and he’s well built with lean muscle but his brother has two inches on him and a temper even more ugly. There’s years of simmering resentment and Jared knows how to talk a low blow. When Jeff unlocks the door and storms out, grabbing his jacket to go, Jared is lying on the floor, clutching his ribs, with a split lip and a rapidly swelling face.

Kim is running after Jeff, she needs a statement for the rest of the workforce, but he calls for his limo and leaves the building, stony faced and uncooperative. Alona, who has been gossiping with Kim about the afternoon’s events, is the first to see the mess that her employer is in. He’s struggling to sit up, with his jaw in his hand and a dazed expression.

“Mr. Padalecki, sir. Are you okay?”

He tests his jaw, experimentally and wipes blood onto the cuff of his Armani jacket. He won’t meet her concerned gaze. “M’fine,” is mumbled quietly.

She is waving her cell in one hand with the other reaching automatically to rest reassuringly on his shoulder. “You need an ambulance.”

“No. No. Nobody finds out. Nobody!” He’s struggling to his feet and wincing in pain.

Kim has entered the room and is standing with her hand over her mouth, pale and horrified. “What happened? Did Jeff do this?”

“I tripped over a chair. That’s all. Understand?” 

To hell with her professional distance, Alona has seen some boardroom brawls but none of them has ever ended in such physical harm. Her boss is one of the youngest CEO’s in the U.S. Right now he looks like a kicked puppy. However bitchy his usual attitude, she is his P.A. and it is her place to look after him. Her hand is unbuttoning his shirt and he’s too shocked to resist. The fabric is peeled back to reveal dark red bruises blooming over his kidneys and across the line of his lower ribs. She speaks gently but firmly, “Jared, no chair does that sort of harm. He’s your brother, I get that. I’m not going make a fuss or call the cops but you have to get some medical help, there could be real damage here.”

Kim is opening and shutting her mouth before sound finally comes forth. “We can’t just ignore this. It’s assault.”

Alona snaps a reply as Jared groans and collapses back to the floor. “The cops have only just left the building. They have taken Jeff and Jared’s cars for analysis. What do you think they’re going to make of this?”

Kim seems to think about it and her eyes widen further, “Do you think?”

“If you value your job you don’t think Kim, and you don’t utter a word of this to anybody. Find Misha and we’ll get Jared home and arrange some help.”

Kim rushes off to find the accountant and there is just Alona and Jared in the room. The sweat is beading from Jared’s brow and he’s breathing shallow and fast. He’s looking at Alona, with his head tipped sideways and a quizzical look. “You hate me,” he grates out.

“Listen carefully, you dick, I am a pro. One of the best there is. You may think I’m here to make the coffee but that is only a fraction of the career that I excel at and I am not about to fail because my boss is a bully. I’ve made it this far and I’ve been good. I’ve been fucking excellent, admit it.” Her eyebrows are raised and she’s looking smug. If Jeff has finally been baited to his breaking point by Jared so has she and right now she can’t see anything threatening about him. “I am an old-school P.A. and by convention an assistant sticks by her employer through everything. If the ship goes down, I go down with it. From what I’ve seen today, there appears to be a rupture in the hull of our vessel and I think we should be bailing out together.”

“Huh.” His surprise is evident and he nods slowly. “Get me home Al.”

Alona has shocked even herself but she’s already planning all the ways in which her boss will suffer if she has to put up with another passion-free evening. She dismisses the notion of sending Jared home in his limousine and waits for Misha to arrive.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Jensen takes a cold shower every morning and completes fifty push ups and fifty sit ups before striking out for the train station which is a fair substitute for the bus station but the pickings are poorer and the uniformed workers more likely to run him off. There is a small green space near the secondary school where he can shelter in a rundown shed when it rains and sit under wide blossom laden branches, in finer weather. The ladies at the library still welcome him but his choice of books has changed. He studies tracts on child development and speech therapy. Afternoons, he works extra hours at the market to build up a small stash of cash savings. Sometimes he opens his journal to look at the permanent lists that he keeps. His fingers trace over the names Chad, Sophia, Kim, Christian. He would like to see their faces and hear their news and wonders if they do the same things when he isn’t there. Does that make them friends? He feels bad for Chad, Jensen should be there to do the little things he hates to make his employees do, to take out the trash and shine the toilets and sinks. 

He knows that Christian’s routine hasn’t altered. Jensen has seen him, allowed himself to glance at the man and accept a cup of hot stew. Christian had signed, “How are you?” and Jensen had moved his fingers in soundless reply, “Okay.”

He’s not okay though. He feels lost and directionless. He never considered failing and he hadn’t made plans for what came after he succeeded. Jensen misses the people on his list and he misses the soothing routine of a Jared, a Jeff and a Misha who co-exist in a world where Jensen is invisible. He can make enough money to go back to the Texas town he ought to call home but there’s nothing left at the trailer where the shell that was his Mama waits for the son she wants but is gone, while the son she has but never wanted, remains. He has fallen into an endless void and thinks the constant of a room with white walls and locked doors might be preferable to a life spent hoping for more.

Right now the things he has done and the lie of the sun, tell Jensen that it is evening. There is colourful dust on his fingers and a drawing rests on the cracked formica surface of the old table. He traces a finger over the naked image of Jared Padalecki he has drawn. He makes a decision and for once it isn’t about what is in the past, what is right or what is sensible. This time it is about what Jensen Ackles wants. He thinks that Josh would approve, perhaps even call it progress. He puts his rucksack on his back, purses his lips and blows, like he’s been practising. A high, even whistle cuts through the silence and he punches the air and grins. Sadie startles from her sleep and rushes to be by his side with her tail wagging furiously. They head out, into the cool evening air.

Jensen watches as Jeff Padalecki slips into the Top Hat Club. He’s earlier than typical for a Tuesday and is already loose limbed with alcohol. Danneel Harris, hangs from his arm. It doesn’t surprise Jensen. He knows Jeff has been having an affair with the Executive Director of rival firm, Nana’s Enterprises, for some time because Jensen has a memory of them, arm in arm, when the trees were full of color and the leaves dropping. He makes a note in his journal and then moves on. Jeff and Danneel will be in the club until closing time, when they will collapse into a cab to spend the night at Danneel’s city apartment.

He makes a detour on the way to Jared’s house and the change is unsettling but he’s planned for it and it is necessary for his new plan. He stops in at the bus station and produces a key for a long-term locker. He makes sure he is alone when he withdraws the satchel within. He checks the contents briefly, bolt cutter, wire cutters, flashlight, slim-jim, gloves and a set of lock picks are all present and accounted for. If he walks quickly he can be at Jared’s home after Lorretta has gone but at least an hour before Jared arrives. He only needs thirty minutes.

It worries Jensen that he knows with such certainty that Jared will not leave the Padalecki Building until at least 7:30 because he is aware he doesn’t remember days and times so well. This must mean it is a regular occurrence and there are a lot of days in the brown envelopes he keeps in the bank vault. It can’t be healthy. Everyone needs time to just _be themself_.

Jensen knows that Jeff goes to baseball and coaches kids' Little League. He knows he spends time at clubs and has sex with a woman who isn’t his wife. Jensen knows that Misha jogs for miles, gives flowers to complete strangers to make them smile and has an eclectic group of friends who he drinks, smokes pot and shoots pool with. He knows Jared has a small art studio at the back of his house which stays dusty and unused. He works out in the sports center gym every morning but he doesn't make time for friends or hobbies. The sports center used to be a public facility but there was no space for Padalecki Inc. to install leisure facilities in their own building. According to evidence and rumor Jared greased palms and intimidated staff until an arrangement was made. Now the center is exclusive to Padalecki employees for two hours before their offices open, lunchtimes and early evenings. Chad doesn't say much about the person who was Manager at the time the changes took place, except that she opposed them and is rebuilding her life from a wheelchair.

When Jensen turns the corner to face the shining glass and steel building where Jared lives, he is lost in memory. Fragments of images spin and whirl and drop in and out of his mind. His light steps take him automatically over the grass and by the shrubbery, into the safety of the shadows. He clutches at his satchel and squeezes a trembling hand into Sadie’s fur. He closes his eyes, blows out hard and breathes in deep to calm himself. He has to focus, but when he opens his eyes, it is to yet more unfamiliarity and chaos. There are cars in Jared’s gravel driveway, movement and shadows in his house. It isn’t Lorretta; her moped isn’t by the garage. Misha’s car is haphazardly parked, partly on the trimmed lawn, close to the main door and the other car is red, _032_ , a high end Mercedes model. There is a card prominently displayed in the window, identifying the driver as a medical doctor, presumably to aid parking. A sour taste rises in his throat and his legs are jelly, unable to run. He slumps to the damp ground by the boxwood hedge and watches.

 

“Crap. He’s heavy. I think I twisted my spine.” Alona leans into Misha’s side and lets him run his hand over her shoulder and slowly down her arm.

“The bastard’s all solid muscle,” laughs her boyfriend.

“Surely Jeff’s not stronger than him? Why didn't Jared get a few swings in?”

“He never does. It’s not his style.” Alona looks concerned and Misha grins, “Doesn’t mean he won’t get his revenge though.” He pulls her through to the kitchen by her hand, opens the kitchen grade Frigidaire and grabs some bottles of juice. He pops the lids and hands her one. “When I said we should go out for drinks, this is not what I was envisioning.”

“Well this is a very _fancy_ drink, Mr. Collins.” She quirks her lip and tips the bottle to read the blurb about organic ingredients and health benefits, “He’ll probably take the cost out of our pay checks,” she jokes.

The accountant takes a swig from his own bottle, his lips form a round red circle as he sucks on it and his head tips back, revealing the sheen of perspiration on his neck. His tie is loosened and askew, his top shirt button undone. His short, dark hair is ruffled and disorderly where he has been running his fingers through it. Alona whimpers slightly, puts her drink down and grabs the bottle from his grasp to place it on the worktop, “Kiss me.”

Misha grabs his hands around her tiny waist and lifts her onto the worktop. He crowds into her space, pushing her skirt up over her knees. One hand curls lovingly around the back of her neck, tangling with silky blonde hair and he pulls her lips against his, they are hot, soft and dry, she darts her tongue out, warm and wet against them and he opens up to let her in. There are soft moaning noises and Misha’s other hand has loosened her shirt and is tracing fingers slowly over the lace of her bra when they hear a cough behind them.

“I’m ready to go.” The physician informs them, staring tactfully to one side of the amorous couple.

They both jump. Misha jerks his hand away too quickly and the bra elastic snaps. “How is he, Doc?” Misha asks, feigning a wide eyed innocent expression, while Alona giggles into the back of her hand.

“There seems to be nothing broken but we can’t be sure while he refuses to go to the hospital for X-Rays. He’s lucky that his muscular build let him absorb the body blows better than most. He’s bruised and sore but there’s no evidence of internal damage. My main concern is that he has taken some harsh knocks to the face. Head injuries occasionally lead to bleeding in the brain. While it is good for him to sleep through the pain somebody should be checking that he is able to wake up on a regular basis.”

Alona rolls her eyes and takes a swig from her drink and Misha grimaces.

“I have advised Mr. Padalecki against being alone tonight but he has refused to accept the offer of a nurse. I’m sure he can afford it but he is adamant to the point of aggressive. The painkillers I have given him will take the edge off and he will sleep. If you want to talk with him you should do it soon. In the event that he refuses your attention, he should have a telephone handy and someone on call. Wake him every two hours and if he doesn’t respond, call for an ambulance. I recommend leaving the burglar alarm off for rapid access. Nobody can force Mr. Padalecki to do anything he doesn’t want to do, but since he said you two are his next of kin, you may have more success than I did.”

Alona spits a portion of her juice as she chokes on it. “He said what?”

The doctor ignores her outburst and Misha rubs reassuring circles on her back.

“My business partner usually sees Mr. Padalecki, I’ll make sure he gets my notes and visits tomorrow.” The doctor closes the door on his way out.

“No! Why would I want you creeping around my house with your tongues down each other’s throats while I sleep. Go’way.” Jared can barely raise his head but he’s not caving in on the issue. Alona is secretly thrilled but she feels obliged to try.

Jared thinks he probably should have warned the doctor that despite his hulking size, he’s a lightweight when it comes to drugs (or alcohol), of any description. Minutes after the needle prick in his thigh he is sleepy, floaty-high and feeling great about it. His pillow is the softest cloud he’s ever experienced and his bed is heaven. The light is glowing, soft, twinkly and multi-colored and his bruises are a stupid inconvenience which nobody should bother over. Alona is the prettiest girl that ever lived but he’d really like to kiss Misha on the lips. His logical brain thinks it is a bad idea to mention his schoolboy crush on Misha or how his bed is big enough for three, so even if he can’t act on it, they better leave, right now.

They turn all the lights off except the soft lamp by his bed. They put the phone on his comforter and turn it to the highest volume and tiptoe away with dire warnings that they will ring every two hours and expect an answer. Jared grunts his response and his eyes flutter closed.

Jensen had watched the man in Jared’s bedroom. He could see the car and guess he’s a doctor. Jared was in his bed wearing a soft tee-shirt and the man lifted it up, examined him carefully and then appeared to give him an injection. Jared didn’t look right, his face was swollen and his movement unnatural. Jensen continued to study the scene through the uncovered window. The physician paced the room and his mouth was moving, giving instructions or a lecture. He drove away soon after. Some time after that Alona and Misha slammed car doors and departed, leaving Jared alone in his house.

Jensen’s in another quandary with no instruction or pattern to follow. He knows that his carefully planned itinerary can’t be followed. His fingers tap nervously against his thumbs in specific rhythm and there’s shivers sparking through his spine. He doesn't know what to do. He stays and stares. Sadie wraps herself about his feet and he doesn’t notice the cold chill in the air.

Alona savors her garlic prawns and raises a wine glass to her gorgeous azure-eyed man. The restaurant is small and exclusive and the Maitre d’ has given them a secluded table and just the right amount of attention. Misha’s hand has found its way under her skirt to rest on her knee and he’s stroking it in a reassuring rather than a sexual manner. “You’re still bothered about today,” he observes.

“Do you think that one of them did it?” she blurts out, wishing she hadn’t, because this is Jared’s friend and she likes him too much to lose him.

“Jared? No. He might get someone else to do it, but he’s not going to be creeping around doing it himself, besides …” Misha pauses and Alona thinks he looks pained “No. Not a fire.”

“Jeff?”

“No. That would be stupid,” he says, but his tone isn’t very convincing.

Now that Alona has started she’s finding it difficult to stop. “How did you come to be friends?”

Misha gives a fond smile. “Growing up, we were the Three Musketeers of Bumfuck, Texas, trailer-trash capital of the U.S.”

Alona winces at the hateful terms.

“Horrible weren’t we? We were the privileged kids of the owners of the two factories in a blue collar town. The other kids hated us and we hated them right back. Mostly it was all just stupid war games and vendettas. We had to stick together. Jeff was a bit older, so in school it was mostly Jared and I, but out of school it was the three of us and our fathers ran the town. We were spoiled and untouchable. We kept in touch through college. Man! That was a learning experience for an arrogant asshole. We all have to grow up some time.”

“I don’t think that Jared and Jeff ever did,” _Jesus_ why couldn’t she bite her tongue?

Misha gives an uncomfortable chuckle, “Yeah,” he answers quietly and adds, “Should have seen it coming.”

Their main meal is placed on the table and Alona loses herself in a delicate chicken dish served with herbs and rice. Misha digs in to his steak and they are happily silent for a while. Alona reaches over to wipe a smudge of pepper sauce from Misha’s mouth with a napkin. When he sees her tapping her fork against the table he asks what else is bothering her.

“I’m not stupid Misha and I’m Jared’s assistant. He should trust me. I’ve seen takeovers and mergers, redundancies and buy outs. This sudden need to sell things and save money, it’s sort of frightening. Is Padalecki Inc. going under or is Jared selling? Whatever is going on, I should be helping.”

Misha leans back, assessing her with his gaze. “Padalecki aren’t selling and they’re not going under. It’s, it’s … complicated.”

Alona kicks his shin under the table and he yelps, “Ouch!”

“I said I’m not an idiot. What is it with you and him? Why are you even working for Jared after all this time? I’ve seen your resume´. You could be heading up your own company by now, and you only joined when he inherited the controlling majority.”

Misha finishes his main meal and sighs. He asks for the dessert menu and fixes his gaze back on Alona. “Okay but it’s not simple and Jared will kill us if he finds out I told. I’m not talking metaphorically, you do know that?”

“Are you serious?” Alona sounds shocked and a little curious.

Misha rubs his hand over his brow. “Really, Al, I don’t know. I used to think I did but I don’t.”

He looks lost for a moment and Alona reaches out to smooth his face, “Baby, you could succeed anywhere.”

“I said I’d see it out for the two years and I will. I’ve got Jared’s back until the annual report is published.”

“And after that?”

“I can leave him to get on with it, or I won’t need to because he won’t be with Padalecki any more.”

Alona’s eyes don’t leave Misha’s face, even when a raspberry pavlova is placed in front of her, “Start at the beginning,” she says, tenderly.

“Jeff and Jared were assholes, we all were, but Jared was a little less. He had potential. He was the youngest and we would tease him because he had brief charitable moments when he would take pity on one of the trailer park kids or give his dinner money to some random homeless dude. They would always fight and Jeff is more physical than Jared but Jeff adored him. They had a hell of a bond. You may not believe it but they still do. Any lesser love than theirs and they’d have killed each other already. Their mother didn’t stick around past Jared’s eighth birthday and knowing their father it didn’t surprise anybody.

Their Pa was the biggest dick of them all. I swear sometimes he was jealous of their relationship. He was greedy, obsessed and a cruel bastard and it’s no surprise his sons didn’t think a lot of him. He believed that competition between them was character forming and fostered the right attitude. They had to fight for everything they were given. A shiny new toy was only given to the one on the winning football team. There would be just one ticket to a concert which would be given to the one who got the best grades. Everything was conditional on one of them bettering the other. Sometimes the prize was enticing enough to cause bitter rivalry and it would be tempestuous for a while, but mostly we all stayed away from him.

The last summer Jeff was at college, we all went to work at Padalecki’s factory in our town. It was the Becks Custard Factory. My Pa thought I would benefit from seeing business through another industry and their Pa believed his sons should get a taste of life on the factory floor, with the ordinary people. Crap! It was bad. We all hated it. Then there was the explosion. It didn’t happen on our shift, but it was fucking terrible. Two people died. We all knew them, they had been students in Jeff’s class and the authorities went after Padalecki Inc. for gross criminal manslaughter. The whole town hated Padalecki and that included Jared and Jeff.”

“I heard about Becks. It’s what that reporter was asking about. I didn’t think there were any convictions.”

“There weren’t but the whole town cried cover-up, and the families got huge compensation packages that almost bankrupted Padalecki Inc. It caused some rifts. The biggest was between their Pa and Jared. He accused his Pa of keeping workers in awful conditions in all his factories and putting profit over safety and modernization. He never really backed down from that stance. I’m not sure he ever got over the guilt he felt at being a Padalecki. Jeff was more relaxed about it. He told Jared to grow some balls and be realistic, that was how businesses continued and employees should be grateful for their jobs. Of course Jeff went to college while Jared had to continue at school in that shitty town. Then, there was the ruckus that was Jared coming out as gay to his father. His Pa never forgave him for that either, chucked him out of his home and the only place he had to go was mine. It’s not exactly the kind of town with rainbow stickers. What his father never expected was the support that Jeff gave Jared over it. Jeff refused to denounce him for being gay. If anything he stepped up his visibility with him. They needed support, and I was there for them.”

He stops and looks at Alona curiously, “You don’t seem surprised, that he’s gay.”

“I’m not. He told me. I think he has the hots for that guy Jen, in the gardens.”

“I didn’t think he’d tell anyone that. You know you can’t tell anyone, right? He’s been deep in the closet since he took over as CEO. He trusts you more than he lets on.”

Alona rolls her eyes and holds out a spoonful of sweet raspberry confection. “You have to try this. It’s orgasmic.”

Misha opens his mouth and engulfs it, licks the spoon slow and sexy and rolls it around his mouth with a moan, “Mmm. Yeah. Orgasmic and creamy but not as loud as you.” Over by the kitchen door the Maitre d’ raises an eyebrow as they giggle noisily and Misha continues, “We went our separate ways and got in touch a few times. Jared started out as an art major but somewhere along the way he dropped it and his final degree was business. He never said, but I assumed his Pa had something to do with it. Even then, Jeff went into the family business, as expected, and Jared opened a small art gallery and auctioneers.”

“Wow. I didn’t know that.”

“He doesn’t boast about it. It wasn’t an ambitious venture, not something most of the Padalecki investors would approve of. He came over to Padalecki three years ago when their Pa got sick and Jeff needed support. He only intended it to be temporary. Then, two years ago their Pa died and with it he managed to pull off the most evil thing he’d ever done to his sons.”

Misha stops to let the dishes be cleared and for the waitress to pour coffee then continues, “He left the controlling interest in Padalecki Inc. to Jared and effectively demoted Jeff, but there was a proviso in the will. Jared had to ensure that Padalecki Inc. completed modernization and safety work, in all the factories. All the work that he told his Pa was necessary had to be completed by the end of the second fiscal year. In addition, he has to show a real profit and consistent stock prices. He’s managed the modernization, which is an incredible achievement, but if he makes a loss of even a cent, he loses everything, the entire inheritance; Padalecki Inc., his personal allowance, every item and personal effect that he had, including pieces of his mother’s jewellery. Everything will revert to Jeff and there’s not a thing he can do about it.”

“Christ!” gasps Alona, “What happens to Jeff if Jared succeeds?”

“There’s the thing. Nothing, except Jeff will never take control of the company that he put his heart and soul into, and assumed was his.”

“That is …” she’s shaking her head, flabbergasted.

“A mind-fuck. One final, malicious act designed to tear his sons apart.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“There are conditions that mean that Jeff can’t interfere or concede without losing all his shares. Jeff told me about it and suggested that Jared should have his own money-man, someone he trusted. He wanted it to be fair. The company has other accountants but they were all associated with Jeff. He suggested the same thing to Jared and Jared came to me.”

“And you decided to work with a callous dick because of some outdated childhood loyalty to him?”

“I fancied a change. Working for my parents had gotten old. I thought I saw something more in Jared. He’s a prick, here at Head Office, but he’s superb at what he does. You have to understand that traditionally this is where the money was spent, on bonuses for the pencil-pushers and suits. He made enemies of everyone here as soon as he started on his mission to divert the profit back to manufacturing. I didn’t think he’d become his Pa. Hell, even Jeff doesn’t know how that happened. Jared was an asshole, we all were. He wasn’t supposed to stay that way.”

“And Jeff isn’t? I mean, I thought he was the quiet one. He’s always lovely to his staff but today, what was that?”

“They work through things in different ways. With Jared, what you see is what you get. He’s not afraid to show his bad mood. With Jeff it bubbles under the surface until it explodes and Jared is always the safest person to take it out on. He can hurt his little brother, and Jared lets him. Jared gets his revenge though, and Jeff takes it quietly. He’s been known to remove the engine from Jeff’s car, publish naked photos of him and when he was sixteen, poison his pet rat.”

“That is so fucked up. I can’t believe I work for these guys. Jared called us his next of kin. What am I thinking, Misha?”

“That you are awesome enough to be the only one capable of working with him. That the pay is excellent and if you stick at it long enough you will be the most sought after P.A. in the city. Oh, and you get to work with Jared’s accountant who happens to be a sex-god who shares his candy.” Misha flutters his eyelashes at her as he pays the check.

She gathers her handbag and coat and speaks demurely, “You could let me suck on your lollipop. That might take my mind off work.”

Misha tugs her quickly out of the restaurant by the hand. “My place! It’s closer.” he growls, low and needy.  
  
  


  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Jensen pets Sadie anxiously. It’s too early for Jared to be in bed but he is and he’s not moving. He hasn't moved in the time it has taken for seven passenger jets to pass over the city and air traffic is light at this time of the evening. 

There’s a reason for Jared’s deep sleep, Jensen reminds himself, and a reason why he came. He tightens his grip on his satchel. So many times he’s passed up his chances at the other.  _Three little words_  and he couldn't make them happen, he berates himself. He thinks perhaps his failure is no longer relevant for Misha or Jeff but he recognizes the stagnation and canker in Jared. Maybe Jensen didn't want it bad enough for the others but he wants it here and now with Jared and it burns like a fire at the pit of his stomach.

Jensen is startled from his thoughts by movement in Jared’s bedroom. Jared’s arms are flailing, uncoordinated until he  grasps something in his hand and puts it to his ear. He is twisting his body to sit at the edge of his bed. Jensen sees him speak then throw the item over his shoulder, back on to the comforter. Jared stretches and his feet touch the floor. He’s wearing soft jogging pants with his tee-shirt and Jensen is confused by it. Jared doesn’t wear bed clothes. They look good on him though, cosy and casual and warm. Maybe Jared’s house is cold today.

Jared shuffles and sways toward the door that leads to the bathroom but his jogging pants catch on the chair next to the bed, Jensen sees the big man swing around as it catches and then crumple to the floor. He thinks his heart may have stopped beating but he puts his hand to his own chest and there’s the familiar pulse so he lets himself gulp air and breathe out.

Jared sits groggily. Puts his hands on his bed and pulls up. He crawls back under the covers and closes his eyes again.

It’s black night and the moon has risen high when Jensen tells Sadie to ‘stay’. His step is light and he’s an expert at keeping to the shadows. He stops by a flowerbed and stoops to take in the heady fragrance of blossom and to touch pale illuminated petals.

Jensen knows every nuance of Jared’s driveway and he’s known his security code from the first weeks that he shadowed him. Jensen thinks that Jared’s security codes are too lax. He never changes them and it is the same numbers that give him passage to the basement of Padalecki Inc and that he presses when he takes money from the ATM. It’s child’s play and Jared, of all people, should know just how simple and how dangerous that is. Jensen works with dextrous, gloved fingers and the utmost concentration, he bites his lip and his eyes shine in the faint lamp of his flashlight. His ears pick up the rush of wind and the creak of a shifting bough. He can hear cars on the highway and is alert for the sound of shift changes that accompany a turn into this exclusive neighbourhood. He’s inside in less than six minutes. His only delay is a result of discovering that the alarm isn’t set. He finds it thoroughly baffling and he checks every step of his process for a flaw or booby trap but there is none. It’s good that he’s here. He can set it when he leaves and Jared will be safe.

_Jared._

Jensen’s eyes widen and he clamps a gloved hand over his mouth. He’s never understood why he does that, it is remnant of learned behaviour from a time when his stepfather lauded him for his rapid assimilation of skills but cursed him for his unpredictable mouth. Silence is preferable to discovery, even his Mama taught him that. Over time he mastered the art of silence, too well, yet he still retains this kneejerk reaction.

_Discovery, Jared._ Jensen suddenly recalls that there was a plan and it didn’t include Jared being in his bed, at home, when it was carried out.

_Jared hasn’t noticed Jensen creeping into his home._ Jensen is torn between the need to make himself safe and the worry at Jared’s silence. There was many a time when he ghosted through a house while the occupier slept but he knows now that they had been carefully targeted, all of them elderly, with dimmed senses and fearful personalities.

The floor is cool and smooth under his socked feet. He’s following the hallway to the granite and steel fitted kitchen. It’s not how he imagined it would be. He reaches out his arms, stretches them at shoulder height until he can trail fingers along both walls and wishes that he wasn’t wearing gloves. He wants to feel the texture and the temperature. He is observing every detail of Jared’s home, the shade of the paint, the engraved pattern on the hanging glass lamps, the smell of after shave and the faintest whiff of smell that a new carpet gives off. Jared has been living here for three years and it still smells  _new_. There’s another smell that he can’t place, earthy and slightly sweaty, it is unusual and a little addictive and Jensen wants to follow wherever it is strongest but he reins himself in with self discipline.

_It’s not cold,_ his mind unexpectedly blurts out but his voice does not. Jensen frowns and concentrates on his task. He starts in the hall. The kitchen has nothing to interest him. The guest bedroom has a stunning landscape that hangs proudly over a modern faux-fireplace. He reaches his gloved fingers to it and removes it from the wall without a knock or scrape. The living area is huge with sunken seating and a plasma screen movie system. There’s a delicate glass vase with threaded veins of iridescent color winding through its pattern,  _8782, 877, 8243_.  _Pretty,_  his mind shouts and Jensen moves it with absolute care before spinning, slow and open-eyed, absorbing the touch, the taste, the images, the sounds and the scent of the room. It is overwhelming to him in its comfort and expense and yet it isn’t opulent or garish. It is understated and calming, a male domain with a touch of flair. It is an expression of everything that Jared should have become.

Jensen stops abruptly and resumes his task. It’s taking too long because he is tiptoeing with ridiculous caution and that would be because  _Jared is in the room next to this one_.

He checks out the study and for that he needs his lock picks. Who would have thought that Jared could be so careless in other ways, yet seal off a part of his own home?

The study smells of printer ink and sharpies. There’s paperwork and files in neat piles and Jensen itches to grasp at them and flick through the details but he’s not here for that. He doesn’t even think about switching on the laptop.

The last room is Jared’s bedroom and he considers leaving it out, but the plan won’t work without it. There’s a portrait of  a naked man which hangs above the bed, a still life on the rear wall and then there’s a magnificent bronze of a wolf that crouches by the window in the shade of a tall rubber plant. Jensen breathes in, as if that makes him smaller. He edges into the shade by the door and listens. There’s just the sound of regular, deep breathing and a clock ticking. Jared hasn’t stirred.

Jensen’s feet move unbidden into the room, sinking into squashy, plush carpet and he’s gazing at the huge form, curled fetal and relaxed with his brunette hair lying unruly over his face and falling soft onto the blue silk sheets. Jensen’s fingers stretch, he aches to know how the tousled strands and fine fabric would feel against his sensitive fingertips but the gloves will prevent it,  _and Jared may wake up_.

He skirts the edge of the room and forces himself to clear his mind of anything but his goal and the sound of Jared breathing, knowing a single deviation in the rhythm could spell Jensen’s downfall.

Jensen only has one item left, and he’s pondering the safest method to unhook the portrait when there’s a loud burst of harsh music and a cell phone lights up, on the bed.  “ _Shit! Fuck! Wrong_!” Jensen’s hand flies to cover his ever silent mouth and he thinks about running. He wonders if he should hide, under the bed, or in the shadow behind the lamp. All he succeeds in doing is freezing to the spot, half crouched directly behind the bed, where he can see the back of Jared’s head rising heavy from the pillow and a hand reaching out for the cell-phone that lies to the edge of the bed, on the same side as Jensen. Jensen leans forward slightly and pushes the phone into Jared’s searching fingers. Jared grasps the small object, his palm is huge and his fingers long and for the briefest moment his fingertips brush against Jensen’s gloved hand. A shiver travels Jensen’s spine, and he bites his lip, he thinks his heart must have stopped this time, but no, there’s fast fluttering in the vein at his neck as it speeds in panic and something more, an indefinable sensation. It feels delicious and he wants Jared to touch him again but Jared is pressing buttons and slurring words.

“Goddamn, Mish, mfine, s’dreamin’, Mm.” Jared giggles and Jensen frowns, he sounds like he’s on drugs. Jensen has seen a lot of that, and it isn’t a good thing.

Jared turns his head and his face is illuminated in the lamplight. Jensen gasps at the purpling bruises, and he’s not sure how Jared doesn’t notice the sound but Jared is fumbling with his cell and huffing. The screen light goes off, and Jared falls back onto the pillow, unnaturally relaxed. “Ow, ow, ow.” The big man complains and sits back up. “Pills,” he mutters and feels about on the nightstand nearest to him. They aren’t there and Jensen notes, uncomfortably, that it is because there are caplets, a handwritten note and a glass of water on the nightstand that he is crouching next to. Jared is fidgeting and groaning. Jensen can see the tense lines of pain and hear air drawn through his teeth as he flinches. He squints at the note and studies the clock until he’s certain. The brunette gives a dismal, drawn out whimper and Jensen moves without thought. He peels the glove from one of his hands and with the other he picks up the glass and a single caplet. In a moment he has his naked hand stretched to Jared’s brow and he can feel the, oh so light touch, of warmth and skin under the pads of his fingers. It’s wrong and wonderful, terrifying and tantalizing all at once. He knows Jared must be sore, so he delicately brushes the hair from his eyes, savoring the silky softness.

Jared startles and goes rigid. He pushes himself up on his shoulder and turns awkwardly and slow, so that his fox-like eyes glitter wide and terrified in the lamplight. Jensen proffers the caplet and water and Jared takes them without a murmur, swallows and continues to stare. Jensen stares back, unable to think, let alone move. All he can do is to keep breathing out and in, and with each breath there’s that heady, earthy scent and it’s addictive and strong right here, next to Jared. His mind is shouting random and lustful words and for once he is grateful for his inability to project sound.

Jared blinks a few times and then sinks back into the pillows, his eyes still fixed on Jensen. “Strong meds,” he mumbles and then squeezes his eyes shut for an entire minute before gradually lifting one eyelid and looking again, “Kiss me,” he slurs.

Jensen wonders if he heard correctly but Jared is smiling dreamily and beckoning to him, while making an uncoordinated attempt to hook him in with a hand tangled into his hair. Jensen fights his natural instinct to pull away or hit out. He’s not supposed to be here and he doesn’t want to jolt Jared from his hazy calm. His face is getting ever closer to the smooth skin and chiselled cheek bones. Jared’s pupils are unnaturally dilated but it makes his multi-hued eyes glimmer.

Jensen’s knees hit the bouncy mattress and he goes with it. He crouches over Jared supporting himself with his hands on either side of the brunette’s shoulders, and he can see every wonderful detail of his face. Jared is pinned beneath him and Jensen is undoubtedly in control. He’s never kissed a man. He was kissed by a girl once. Lauren had taken him behind the church hall to teach him to kiss with his mouth, but it tasted of cigarettes and bubblegum and the spit and drool of it was disgusting. Lauren told everyone it was the best kiss she’d ever had, and Jensen had pitied her. Jensen doesn’t think it will be like that with Jared. He hopes not.

Jared’s eyes flutter closed when their lips meet. His eyelashes are thick and long and Jensen would like to kiss them too, but he doesn’t. Jensen licks his lips and they press together, wet skin on soft dry skin. There’s a high pitched moan from Jared, and his mouth falls open for Jensen to lick in experimentally with his tongue. He likes the taste, it is peppermint and aniseed and a little bit stale-sleepy. Jensen isn’t sure what else to do so he slides his lips along the full red mouth and sucks at Jared’s lower lip, taking care to avoid the jagged, sore tear at one side. Jared responds, arching up to him and cups Jensen’s face in his hand, to crush his lips with tight suction, to his own. In the end, the kiss is hot, noisy and a little bit sloppy and it lasts until they are both panting with swollen red lips. It’s the best thing that Jensen has ever experienced, and he’s tingling with excitement, shockingly alive.

“Mmm. Jus’ like I thought,” Jared mumbles sleepily, and yawns. He scoots to one side under Jensen and tries to loop an arm around Jensen’s shoulder with abysmal aim. Jensen lifts his leg and collapses on the bed beside him and Jared buries his head into the down pillows. “Please stay. Don’ ever wan’ wake,” he whispers just before his limbs go limp and heavy, and his breathing slows to a peaceful and even rhythm.

There’s a smear of coppery blood that taints Jensen’s lips, Jared’s blood. Jensen licks it off, revelling in the intimacy of it. He lies on the strange bed, basking in the radiant heat from another man’s body.  It feels like a dream or a warped reality, and he doesn’t know whether to be elated or alarmed. He decides not to dwell on it. He watches the hands of the clock and the rise and fall of the broad chest beside him, he lets his fingers trace the angry color that proves the pummelling that Jared has received and rubs soothingly at the unmarked flesh. There’s a content sigh that fills the room as Jared buries himself closer into Jensen’s shoulder. When the big hand touches the twelve on the clock Jensen remembers that Sadie is waiting for him. He disentangles himself with regret, slips his gloves on, snatches the portrait off the wall and completes his mission. He is sure to set the burglar alarm as he exits.

When Lorretta wakes Jared the sun is high in the sky. His mouth feels like it has been stuffed with cotton, his mind is foggy and his vision is giving an alarming tilt and sway to the room. When he moves there is a screeching, tight pain in his chest, he grabs at his ribs as remembers the reason.  “Shit,” he says with feeling.

“Mr. P!”  Lorretta admonishes with a fond smile. She extends a cup of something to her employer. Jared can tell by the curl of steam that it is hot, but knowing Lorretta the concoction could be anything from lemon and honey to ginger tea (which is vile, but apparently a great cure for a sick stomach.)

“Just give me my goddamn meds and some water,” Jared growls.

Lorretta looks anxious and proffers the cup once more. “I made you coffee Mr. P. I have talked to Mr. Collins and Ms. Tal and they have instructed that you are not to take any more medicine until your regular physician has seen you.”

“What the hell has it to do with them?” It starts as a shout but breaks down into a cough as pain stabs along his diaphragm.

She sets the mug on the nightstand.  “I was also told not to let you argue with me.” Lorretta backs out of the room nervously. 

Jared groans and looks to his night stand for caplets but they’re not there. He runs his hands through his hair and sits up awkwardly. It’s not that bad really. Nothing he’s not been used to most of his life. He’s no snivelling wimp. He can take it.

There’s a knock on his door “Is it safe to come in?” Alona’s voice is way too cheerful.

“Why not? Why should I care if the U.N. decides to set up a refugee camp in my bedroom?” It’s a sarcastic and snotty reply which Alona chooses to ignore. She’s feeling a new confidence in her position, and Jared isn’t going to ruin it. She is all business, clutching files in her arms.

“Misha thought it best if I come over here with everything that’s urgent. We can work through it, and you can get some more rest before your physician comes.”

Jared has been studying the clock. “More rest! It’s past 10 a.m., Alona.”

“Well, it appears you had a busy night. Misha’s pissed that you reset the alarm. Medical help could have been delayed.”

“I didn’t need any help, and if you hadn’t kept waking me, I’d have been perfectly content with my drug induced hallucinations because they were great.” He has a big dorky smile on his face, and Alona wishes she had a camera to capture it. “Wait! I didn’t reset the alarm. I haven’t gotten out of this bed. Oh Christ! I need to piss. Get out. Leave me alone.”

“Of course, Sir.” She backs out of the room with a wry grin, waiting for him to notice.

Lorretta is counting down with her, her eyes shining with humor.  If their employer was less of a grouch then maybe they would have been worried by the drugs’ odd effect on him or at least one of them would have gently broken the news to him, but it is obvious Jared has no memory of what he has done and the outcome is likely to be dangerously hilarious.

They hear the sound of water running as the shower is used. The two girls tiptoe to loiter outside Jared’s bedroom door.

The water is heavenly hot and soothing on his sore flesh. He picks an enlivening shower gel to wake himself up, but he doesn’t want to let go of the dreams he had as he floated on a hazy drug cloud. He thinks of vivid green eyes, long fingers, pale skin and freckles, he re-imagines the kiss, tentative and erotic, sweet and passionate. If he could always have those dreams he’d never want to wake.  He could almost smell, touch, taste the man and the comforting bulk by his side had seemed so real. He doesn’t want to know why his mind has fixed on this particular hobo but he is tall, muscular and his pink lips pout obscenely. It’s the tramp’s lips he’s thinking of now. They’re full and hot sucking his cock down with a wet tongue that licks his length and teases the tip. Jared’s hand grasps around his stiff morning wood and the foam in his hand lets his fingers slide easily up its length and around the head, rubbing and dipping into the slit, twisting and pumping again. He tugs himself to the vision, groaning into the patter and gurgle of the shower as he comes fast and hard into the flow of the water. He washes himself off, turns the dial and grabs a towel as the last of the water drips.

It isn’t until he has pulled his soft polo shirt on that he notices the blank wall over his bed. His eyes glance to the empty space where the bronze wolf normally stands and his stomach rolls. He puts a hand to the wall to steady himself. He’s been robbed. What was real? Was the green-eyed man really there? His eyes return back to the space where the portrait should hang. It makes no sense, the painting has no value. It is simply a personal piece. He wonders if that is where its true value lies. He feels sick and it has nothing to do with drugs.

“No! Oh my God! No!” Words finally make it from his lips. He flings open the bedroom door, to the sight of Alona and Lorretta scattering. “I’ve been robbed. You knew. You told me to turn off the alarm system. You…”  He’s crimson, and Alona wonders how it is possible to hyperventilate with bruised ribs because her employer is managing it just fine.

The hall walls are as blank as his bedroom walls and he shoves past Lorretta to rush around the rest of his home, his heart sinking more with every exposed space. It’s hard to assimilate the facts. The TV system remains, the ridiculously expensive Bose sound system with DAB stands shiny and present. Everything that is missing is his art and sculptures and it makes no sense because a lot of it has no intrinsic value. It has every indication of a personal attack and he’s trying to wrap a foggy mind around it all when Lorretta grabs him by the waist and orders him to sit down.

 “We have to call the cops. Have you called the cops?” his whole body is sagging in despair.

She shoves a cup of coffee into his hand insistently. “Yes, Mr. P. I called the police as soon as I came in this morning, but then they asked me what is missing. Then I go to look, and I think that nothing is gone.”

“Lorretta! Everything is gone!”

“Mr Padalecki, sir. If you can calm down then you should come and see the studio. It is all there. Every piece,” Alona adds.

Jared looks confused. “Drink your coffee and then we can take a look. I’m sure the physician will be able to explain what happened.”

“That’s the thing about these modern drugs,” says Lorretta wisely, “One person will sleep like a baby while another will think they’re navigating an air balloon.” Alona and Jared both look up at her with strange expression, “My nephew took over the counter painkillers, walked all the way to the next town, knocked on a door and asked for Snow White,” she continues.

The assistant and her boss look at each other again and they’re both stifling a laugh. “I’m not sure that was actually a licensed drug, Lorretta,” says Jared, a little calmer now.

“Do you want to go see?”  Alona asks kindly. Jared’s reaction isn’t what she expected. Fury and vengeful cursing would have been amusing, but his empty expression isn’t funny.

Jared isn’t sure what to expect but it isn’t this. He takes in the arrangement of objects. There is a crescendo of color and organization of shape. The way that the metal, china and crystal objects shine in the sunlight is deliberate. The easel has been moved and in its focus stands a tall wooden stand with his Venetian glass vase, refracting brilliant silver, purple and green in the sun’s rays. There’s a spray of fragrant blossom that spills tiny delicate leaves, they cluster and drift at its base. Storage boxes have been unlatched and paintbrushes stand ready, next to a blank canvas, with water-colors and oils within reach. All of it has him breathless, but what stands on the easel, over the blank canvas has him thinking his heart will stop. It’s a nude, in pastels, of him.

At first there’s nothing that will come from his throat. He’s speechless and isn’t that just ironic. Then it grates all at once, barking, harsh and loud, “Get out!”

Lorretta and Alona freeze, open mouthed.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” He takes Alona by the arm and frogmarches the stunned assistant to the door, with Lorretta following in her wake.

 “Mr.P?”

“Get out!” he grabs their shoes, coats and bags and throws them onto the drive after them. “Go. Don’t come back today,” he adds as he locks the door and sets the alarm,  _like that makes a difference_. If green-eyes reset Jared’s alarm then he already knows the code.

He makes his way back to his studio and sits by his easel. He surveys the arrangement once more, sweeps his eyes appraisingly over it. He’s seen the general layout before. This room is small, much smaller than his gallery was but the basic concept is there. He’s trying to find reason or meaning or possibly the name of an artist with green eyes and freckles over his nose but he comes up with nothing.

The nude is good. The colors and form flow. It’s not in his hand or style and it’s a notch above his talent. He recognizes the setting, with him by the window, the light cleverly spilling around him, shaded in subtle strokes. It could be crude. He is pictured with his hand wrapped around his erect cock, his head flung back with a blissful expression on his face. It’s not, it’s sympathetic and erotic. He should be freaked out but there is no anger in the way the image was drawn. It is a calm and loving piece.  _Like the kiss_ , he thinks and tries to shake it off. It is not natural or healthy to be thinking about your stalker, hell  _your stalker with housebreaking tendencies,_  in this way. Perhaps it is all to do with the painkillers he has taken.

Jared doesn’t want to think about it. He studies the blossom in the vase on the stand, puts the nude to one side and picks up his palette and paintbrushes.

 


	9. Chapter 9

It is early afternoon and Alona should be enjoying her Jared-free day, instead she is thoroughly pissed off. She would resign but it would only be satisfying if she could do it in person, and Jared is locked away in his home. Today she has been thrown out of Jared’s house without so much as a cab being called. She’s been shouted at by Misha for not returning with his papers signed. Jeff has called her in to ask what his brother has told her and been ‘disappointed’ with her when she admitted that he hasn’t said anything. Not that she’d have told, the asshole could have put Jared in hospital and all he’s concerned about is his reputation.

Now, she has some jumped up young detective asking her about Jeff and Jared’s cars and Jared’s schedule. The lawyer is sitting in on the conversation and jumping in to argue with the cop at every turn. Currently there is heated debate about co-operation and the time it will take to get a search warrant for car pool records and the small key safe in Alona’s care. She doesn’t realize she’s switched off from it all until the detective repeats her name loudly, “Ms Tal?”

She turns bored brown eyes on the detective.

“I was asking who else has access to the key safe.”

“That would be me, Jared and Jeff.”

“And everyone has to sign the keys in and out and account for the mileage?”

“Yes. Except for Jeff and Jared, they have keys to their own cars. Sometimes Jared forgets to note his mileage but it’s obvious if everyone else keeps note, besides he hasn’t used his in months. He lives nearby and there was always the limo.”

“Where do you keep your key to the safe Ms Tal?”

“I have it in my purse. Mr Padalecki, Jared, doesn’t like to keep it in the office overnight.”

“Can you show me?”

She takes a shiny steel key from a zipped compartment in her purse and holds it up.

“Is this the original? Have you ever lost it or lent it to anybody?”

She looks to the lawyer and he nods for her to continue, “No. This is the only one. I’ve never given it to anybody else to look after.”

Detective Pearson produces a plastic bag and looks at the legal man. There is a brief non-verbal communication and the lawyer grits his teeth and nods his assent, “If you’d like to drop it in here, Miss.”

“You already have the keys. You took them with the cars.”

“Yes, we have.” The tone is dismissive and Alona suddenly wonders about the direction the interview is taking.

“I don’t drive, I never took lessons,” she says quickly, with a flush to her cheeks.

“We know Ms Tal, we checked.”

There is implication in the way he speaks the words and Alona understands for the first time, why the lawyer is being so careful. The P.A. wonders what the forensic search of the cars has revealed, because it’s definitely not nothing. Her head begins to throb and she needs air.

“Are we done?” she asks.

“Almost. Tell me Ms Tal, what was your employer, Jared Padalecki’s initial reaction to the fire at Linden?”

She swallows and tells a careful truth, “He was angry and surprised. He wondered why his schedule had changed, I had to tell him. He was relieved that none of the emergency responders had been harmed tackling it.”

Pearson is assessing her as she speaks, “We may need to have more details about that but we’ll finish there. If you think of anything else, then be sure to contact me,” he hands her his business card.

He grabs his coat from the hook by the door, “One more thing. What color would you describe Jared’s car as?”

Alona was baffled by the question. “Charcoal or grey, I guess,” she answered.

“Just curious.”

The detective swings out of the room and the lawyer hangs back for a moment to say, “You don’t speak to **anybody** about anything to do with this without representation. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear. What should I tell Mr. Padalecki about it, sir?”

“I believe he’s ill. It’s best not to bother him at the moment, Ms Tal.”

“Okay.”

Alona collapses in her chair and rubs her temples. The small throb is growing into a monster headache. She needs a break and somebody who will sympathise with her.  She heads on over to the managing director’s office where she knows that Kim will always take five minutes to gossip with her.

The sun is beginning to sink in the sky as Sophia shifts on sore feet in the sparse office of the Market Street Shelter. She has walked further than she normally would, even when she’s working. The lady who greeted her had been pretty, a tall blonde lady and she had smiled and said Sophia would have to see the manager. The manager is tall, muscular and slightly intimidating, with shoulder length dark hair and deep blue eyes. He doesn’t look thrilled to see Sophia. He sticks out his hand and she shakes it, “Christian Kane,” he says with a thick Texas drawl. “Katie tells me that you’re looking for somebody.” Sophia hands him a flyer with Jen’s description. “I was wondering if you’ve seen this man.”

Chris gives it a cursory glance, “Wouldn’t be tellin’ you if we had miss, no offence. You know that the police are looking for him? Perhaps you should check with them. I’ve given them what help I can. You understand that the nature of our work, we have to build trust. We can’t go talking personal business to just anyone. Most people on the street have a reason that they’re there.”

Sophia looks crushed. Jensen has not been in Padalecki Gardens for over a week now and she is worried about the homeless man. She called in sick for the afternoon and has been walking the streets ever since, hoping for a glance of Sadie or Jen and retracing his footsteps best she could. She wishes she had asked more questions about where he was from and where he goes but he always seemed so private. Her shoulders sag. “Oh.”  She doesn’t know what else to say.

Christian is momentarily stumped. He was expecting a threat, a comeback or a plea. “What? Hasn’t Aunt Dorothy died and left him something in his will? Aren’t you from the insurance company?”

“No,” she says. “I’m just,” her brow deepens as she thinks about it, “I’m a friend.”

Christian looks doubtful. “You can leave a message here in case he turns up.”

“Will you give it to him?” She sounds hopeful.

“He’s never stayed here, but if I do see him, yeah.” It’s not a lie but Christian is being cautious. He has no idea what situation Jen is in but the police have not been the only ones to ask after him in the last two days. Christian has been working this gig for a while and he knows the reek of trouble when he smells it. The cops were pleasant enough but the second man who had called claiming to be an insurance investigator was a fraud. Christian didn’t believe that the stocky man with the sparkling eyes and whiskers was on the level about Jen’s family searching for him either. There is no reason for this lady to be telling the truth, even if she is very pretty and seems genuinely concerned.  Sophia pats down her pocket for her notebook and Christian notices, for the first time, that she’s in some sort of uniform. “How did you say you met this man?”

“Jen has a spot on my beat. I said ‘Hello’ to him every day for months and he never seemed to notice me, but one day I put a ticket on a very annoyed deaf lady’s car and he came to my rescue. I never knew sign language could get so angry and she just got angrier and angrier. I don’t know what he said to her but she ripped up the ticket and drove away and I let the city deal with it. He was shaken up so I took him for coffee at the diner and he showed me some signing. We’ve been doing it ever since, every week day, at the same time. It was our routine until he disappeared a few days ago.” She is writing on the paper as she speaks, “There’s the address of another coffee house and a couple of street names on my beat. If he can’t go to our normal place then he can find me at these. Tell him Sophia misses him and that I’m here to help, if he needs me,” she writes her name.  “Tell him I met Chad today when I was looking for him and Chad’s worried too. He says he must come back for a swim anytime, no questions asked. Jen’s real shy, not so good at communicating but he can hear, so you need to make sure he’s focused on what you’re saying, or that he gets the note.”

“Sophia and Chad,” Christian speaks slowly, he has a faint memory of a list in Jen’s journal, where he has written Christian’s name. The names are not very common and he is sure they were there, above his. She seems to know a lot about Jen, not just his habits but his personality too. Christian pauses before taking a chance, “You can come back and check. You can put your feet up, I’ll make you a cup of coffee and we’ll compare notes.” He’s baring his teeth in a genuine pearly white grin.

Sophia seems to appreciate the thaw in Christian’s attitude, she gives him a bright smile in return and her eyes linger. “I will.” she says.

Christian watches her as she exits and walks away. He thinks the view from behind is as good as the view of Sophia’s face and she has exceptional legs. He may have voiced that opinion because Katie swipes him around the head with her hand and calls him a dirty dog, even while she continues to stare.

It’s not Christian’s turn to drive the soup van but he volunteers. If he’s honest he’s not sure if he’s more eager to help Jen or to help Sophia by helping Jen. She does have wickedly good pins that go all the way to her finely formed ass.

It’s evening and Jared is in his studio. There’s a bottle of beer in his hand and a small but detailed painting of blossom in a vase, drying on the table. He smoothes out the pastel he drew, days before, and clips it to the easel to study it. The man with his dog is not his best work, but that is not important. He’s remembering the subject’s elegant fingers, freckled skin and intense eyes. Jen’s not short by any means. Jared estimates that he’s over six foot and well built, but he thinks that his arm would loop around the silent man’s waist, and the soft golden-brown crown of hair would tuck comfortably under his chin when they embraced. The hands would be gentle, yet demanding. They would slide his jacket off, pop the buttons on his shirt and slide the zipper of his pants with a tease while those soft lips followed behind, sucking and tonguing at the sensitive flesh of his chest, over his abs and along the trail of his hips all the way to… He shakes his head in frustration and palms at the twitching interest in his groin. Has Jen ever had to sell those lips to survive? He wonders what it would cost. Of all the fantasies that he has had, this has to be the most insane but he has money and the man has already been in his bed.

Jared cuts his own thoughts dead. He’s disgusted with himself for wanting the roughness of a weird, homeless, nobody. He swings his chair to face the portrait that was formerly on the bedroom wall and raises the brown glass bottle to it “Cheers,” he says and takes a long, satisfying swig. He doesn’t look away, stays and stares morosely at it.

Jared’s telephone and cellphone are lighting up at regular intervals but he’s turned the sound off. He can guess that Jeff is still swearing at the faceless voice of his message service. _Fucker deserved it_. He can hear Misha pounding on his front door, alternately shouting and then pleading with him for access. He finishes his beer before he allows his friend in.

“What the hell have you been doing all day Jay?” Misha sounds angry and Jared thinks it is unfair of him in the circumstances.

“I painted, drank beer.” He has a loose limbed gait and the words run into each other.

“You fucked with Jeff, you stupid fucker. You didn’t have to screw with his wife too.”

“I did.” Jared smirks and raises his eyebrows in a _so what if I did_ gesture.

“Because Lacey already knew about his affair, and she never did anything to you. You didn’t have to rub her nose in it.”

“Then I guess none of ‘em is gonna to mind being on the cover of Gossip News this week, especially not Danneel. Imagine the publicity for Nana’s.”

“Christ! You didn’t?”

“Did.”

“And what about Padalecki Inc., you moron?”

“What about it. Do you think I care?”

“What the hell? Are you still on those painkillers? I told Lorretta to get rid of them.”

“There are no drugs in my system. Just beer.” Jared grabs his friend by his hand and pulls him into the kitchen to ply him with a beer. “Lighten up Misha. You’re no fun these days.”

Misha splutters so hard that beer exits through his nose and Jared starts to laugh. “You are truly disgusting man.”

His friend’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Did you get laid or something.”

Jared flushes and his eyes flicker away from his friend’s face. He’s sober enough to know that this is dangerous ground. _No, but I think I got kissed by a stalker who broke into my home when I was incapable,_ _and it tasted just perfect,_ is not an acceptable answer in any circumstance.

“I haven’t done any painting in so long, it felt good.”

Misha wipes his face with a tissue and blows his nose, he looks serious. “This is just one day, right. You’ll get your groove back tomorrow and we’ll be back on top of it all. Yeah?”

“What are you not hearing Misha? I got my groove back right now.”

“No! You haven’t. Two years, Jay, two years, to give the finger to those bastards, to take what they said you could never have. I have poured everything into this and you’re not going to flake on me now.”

There is a hint of cold rage in Misha’s manner and Jared gets it, he does, because Misha had put him back together whenever his father had torn him apart, but his own anger is kindled too, “Don’t ever say that about my brother. Don’t ever compare him to our father!”

“Why not, Jay? Tell me. Jeff accepts you are gay. He bought your rainbow flag, but look at you. You never stopped being his punch bag. He’s never believed in you, Jay, he will always put you down, take from you. Not like me. You and me and Padalecki Inc., man! A few more weeks and you can have everything they never wanted you to have.  This is revenge and it feels good, don’t lose it now.”

“What if I don’t want revenge?”

“You keep telling yourself that Jared. When Jeff and Danneel are on the cover of Gossip News, you carry on telling yourself that. How about when you’re penniless and homeless? How about then? Huh!”

The fight goes out of Jared. He knows that Misha is only looking out for him and he’s behaving like a dick. “Right. Yeah, you’re right. M’just sore. You do know that I won’t actually be penniless, right? I can earn a decent wage.”

Misha relaxes too. He finishes the contents of his bottle and pats Jared on his back in a supportive gesture, “How about you rest and do some more arty things this evening and I’ll see you in the morning. Alona’s got some make up that will cover the worst of the bruising on your face.”

“No! Jeez. No make up. I tripped on a chair remember?”

“Nasty things, those chairs!”

“Go home, Mish.”

“Gone!” The blue eyed man blows him a sarcastic kiss as he leaves the house.

It’s quiet when he leaves, too quiet. Jared is waiting for something to happen but he’s not sure what. He settles in his office chair and absent-mindedly pulls up financial details and business plans. There’s a quiet ‘ting’ and he notices that there are emails in his inbox. There’s one from Claire in accounts, about a glitch in the finance system. It’s trivial and out of place, but it has been forwarded by Ash in I.T., with the words “Catch you later.”

Jared reads the three words that are familiar code to him and holds his breath as he opens the very private e-mail account he keeps. Sure enough, there is mail from Ash, marked ‘confidential’ and ‘priority’. He tries to work out what the technical jargon means and thinks he only half succeeds. He replies, forwards it again, this time to Jim Beaver and decides to look at it properly later. He twirls in his chair before sucking in breath and considering the jarring gaps on the walls. His inner sanctum has been breached and there’s not a trace that the man was here, except emptiness. It’s a fitting comparison. He shuts down his computer and paces back to his studio where he stands and considers his collection. Three years his life has been on hold and maybe its time for a change. He cradles the proud bronze wolf in his arms and carries it through to the living room, where he considers the light and the composition before placing it with care.

It is 9.30 p.m. when he holds the last piece in his arms. He always loved this portrait of Matt, twisted in silk sheets, serene in the afterglow of sex, with heavy lidded eyes ready to close for sleep. Matt has never seen it and if Jared is honest it is a work of fantasy. It’s a realistic pose but the eyes had never continued to shut entirely. They had always snapped open with guilt before Matt dressed in a hurry and left Jared with a quick kiss on the cheek and a compliment. Jared is grateful in a way because if it had been true love he wouldn’t have been able to give it up, and there is no doubt that he wouldn’t be in the position of power that he is today. He places the work on a flat surface and breaks the seal of the frame. He slips the canvas out from under the glass and rolls it with care before sliding it into a tube, in storage, and closing the door on it.  He works on a plain card frame for today’s creation of still life and scattered petals and leaves his pastel sketch and Jen’s nude resting on the easel together.  He has a light supper and dims the lights. He watches raindrops spatter against the glass of his window, they roll in clinging lines and gather with the hypnotic beat of a steady downpour.

Christian comes with the soup van at 10.00 p.m. and it’s unexpected but Jensen knows that sometimes they change the routine. They are mostly volunteers and he supposes they have lives with families and dogs and cats and hamsters.

Jensen lets Sadie nose her way out of the darkened doorway in which he stands, to wag her tail and cast eyes of rich liquid brown, at Christian and his friends. There’s a chill in the air and an icy edge to the raindrops and gloom. An assortment of men and women in dirty layers, gloves and scarves, huddle together. They are already vying for the best spot, near the steaming urns. There’s yells and bawdy jokes, cackling laughter and reminders to make a line. Jensen hangs back and hopes that Christian has seen Sadie. The tramp is shivering, wearing less layers than usual. Today he has washed his outer clothes in the cold water of his basement squat. Running water is a luxury he may not have for long, so for now his outer-clothes hang dripping from the bathroom rails. He needs to be clean. It’s a virtue and one that it is all too easy for him to forget. He doesn’t always notice if he smells or has dirt on his fingers so it is important for him to check every day. It is difficult to maintain since he has been avoiding the swimming pool, yet for some reason it has also become more important since he has got close to Jared. Jared has a smell that is intoxicating and Jared likes Jensen, Jared kissed him. When Jensen was young his mother and stepfather wanted to hug and kiss him but it was constricting and unpleasant and he could see no reason to like it. Jared’s kiss was different. Jensen can’t describe why it was special. Just that it was, and he wants to do it again.

Jensen is startled by Christian’s voice, right next to him. The van has moved on and yet the man sits beside him on the shiny tiled step in the wide doorway of a nondescript building. He is proffering a cup of thick, hot soup and a bread roll. Sadie is munching on some sort of bone shaped treat. Jensen tunes into the conversation but he’s not sure how long Christian has been speaking.

“…need you to help me, man because she’s all sorts of fine and apparently she is your friend so I need you to give me a clue.”

Jensen blinks and frowns in concentration. Christian is on his ‘friends’ list so he remembers to look at his face and watch his expressions and movement. It’s not helping in this instance. He reaches to Christian’s arm and touches it gently, to stop him, and then shakes his head in obvious confusion.

Christian offers up the food and Jensen puts his left palm flat in front of him, the fingers of his right hand descend to touch his left palm ‘again’ he signs then takes his food politely. He knows better than to snatch, he has been taught manners.

“Oh. Sophia came by the Shelter today.” Christian speaks clearly and makes sure he is facing Jensen. He wants to keep his attention. “She’s a meter maid. She has these amazing dark eyes and brown hair and legs that go right up to her ass. Is she a friend of yours?”

Jensen nods assent. He thinks she probably is.

“Hey dude! You are a popular guy. She says she’s missing you and so is Chad at the swimming pool. She gave me a note for you.” He passes the folded notepaper and lets the hobo read it all.  He pets Sadie while he waits for Jen’s attention to come back to him. The next part of the conversation is serious and he wants to be sure that Jen acknowledges it. “Jen there’s been other people asking about you. Is there something you need help with?”

Jensen thinks about the question. He’s not sure what it means. There are lots of things that he could have help with but they are vey ordinary and nobody has worried about them in the past.  He shakes his head slowly.

“Jen, has anybody threatened you or tried to hurt you?”

He shakes his head again.

“No, good,” Christian says with a small sigh of relief, “Okay, well, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” he waits for the nod and continues, “We don’t just have beds to sleep in at the shelter. We have classes to help people get their GED and ways of helping people find housing. We’ve also got some workers who help us, care professionals, health workers and community police. Some of them have legal or counselling qualifications.”

Jen has turned pale and looks as if he is about to bolt and Christian speaks quickly, “None of them will force you to come inside if you don’t want to. They don’t do that. What I have to tell you is that the cops have been looking for you.” Jen is trembling and flexing his knees to stand. “Wait! They want you to know you’re not in trouble. Not at all, but they will have to speak to you and I have told them it should be somewhere that you decide, at a time you’ve agreed and somebody from the shelter should be with you, or a friend. Maybe Sophia or Chad could be there? I would if you wanted.”

Jen is shaking his head wildly and stands and starts backing into the farthest dark corner of the doorway.

Christian decides to take another direction and hopes that Jen is as bright as he seems. “They are worried for your safety but they can’t take you away and they won’t take Sadie from you if you can show that you can cope on your own. I know you can, you are strong and independent and they’ll see it too. You can wait until they take you from the street to talk to you at the precinct or you can choose to come into the shelter and we can make them wait until you’re ready and then help you to talk to them, organize a sign interpreter for you. Will you come into the shelter? It is a safe place.”

It’s a lot to take in and a big question to answer. He’s not sure who to trust and he hasn’t had to have a proper discussion or make any big decisions in a very long time. He’s insecure and uncertain. There’s a rocking motion starting at his hips and working through him, building in rhythm.

“Damn,” Christian mutters, “Jen, stop! Look at me!  You don’t have to give an answer now. It’s enough if you think about it. Please think about it.”

The only reply is the sound of Jen’s tattered shoes slapping the wet sidewalk as he gathers Sadie’s leash and flees into the night.   
  



	10. Chapter 10

The burglar alarm isn’t set when Jared wakes the next morning. He’s alone in his sheets and he’s disappointed. The haze of constant rain had made it impossible to know if the green eyed hobo had watched him yesterday evening and there had been no visitor in the night. He had made no attempt to increase his security and he’s not going to apologize for the overt display that mimicked the painting that stands on the easel in his studio. Jared has been simultaneously disturbed and thrilled by the thought of his drugged vulnerability under the bulk of a man with green, green eyes who could have done _anything_ he wanted with him and he would have been helpless to prevent it. Just thinking about it now makes his morning wood throb and he reluctantly moves his hand to take care of it, hard and fast. He knows it’s been too long without somebody to make him scream and beg and whimper. He should find a hook up or a casual romance, but it’s dangerous for business and right now he can only think of one somebody. He wants Jen to bite, lick and take him. It’s obsessive, unrealistic and the hottest daydream he’s had in years.

Jared washes, shaves and brushes his teeth, he’ll take a shower at the gym. He will adjust his routine a little but he isn’t going to let a few bruised ribs prevent his morning exercise. He’s sure his decision has _nothing_ to do with the slim possibility that this time when he looks, Jen might be there.

Jensen shivers in the bitter morning air that hangs still in the abandoned apartment. He feels light headed and weak. There’s a sink of cold water that he’s using to wash and shave but it feels unusually harsh and he trembles with the splash of it on his skin. He was stupid to spend so long in the rain the night before but sometimes, when he panics, his feet take him to places without his conscious thought. He had come-to outside Jared’s house. The light had shone dull around the tall man, sitting quiet and alone in his comfortable chair, in his large lonely house. Jensen had felt the biting cold then and wanted the warmth of a strong, firm body next to him. Instead he had turned to trudge through the gloom to his squat. He had stripped his soaked clothes from his skin and huddled in his sleeping bag with Sadie at his side but he couldn’t sleep for the bone deep chill that had settled on him.

There’s a hot tickle at the back of his throat, and Jensen coughs. A wakeful night has given him opportunity to think and make new resolutions with a plan on paper and a commitment to change. He knows that he’s different, and he knows why he is different but he’s also not incapable or disabled. He has _difficulties_ socialising and he’s read enough to be able to use the proper words for it and be aware that it shouldn’t preclude him from living what others would call a normal life, within limitations.

What he has never considered, before now, is the sort of life he wants to lead or what goals he should fulfil. He used to have ambition. There was the desire, as a young child, to be normal or at least to be in the same class as the rest of the children his age, instead of being with babies two years his junior. Then there was hope that he could live up to his stepfather’s ambitions to escape their run-down trailer with skill of James Bond and daring of Robin Hood. _That_ had ended with his stepfather in jail. He had wanted to rewind time so he could attend school at all, instead of being confined, silent and angry, to the prison of their shabby trailer with his mother’s resentful schooling. When Josh left school, it had become more focused. His brother was going to work double shifts and weekends, any stupid hours to earn the money that would take them both away to the big city, where Jensen could stop hiding and they could both start afresh. That dream had crashed in flames with Josh’s death in the Becks factory explosion. For five years following his brother's death it became about vengeful justice and wanting his Mama to look at him and see a son, instead of a flawed burden who could never be right in God’s eyes.

Justice is weighted to the wealthy and revenge is a cold dish that can lead to regret. His mother is buried deep in her own head and Jared Padalecki is drowning in his past. There are already too many victims claimed by the Becks explosion. If he loses himself on the streets then it is another life needlessly wasted for one moment of teenage stupidity. He can do better. He once promised Josh he would succeed, and he wants to fulfil that vow. For the past two years, eight months and three days his life has been about making three little words happen, but they never did. He’s now resigned to the fact that there is more to the problem than will power. The words won’t happen unless he accepts help.

In short, he’s twenty eight years old, he’s alone and drifting, he’s a virgin, and it’s about time he got his shit together.  

Chad’s grin is pearly and wide when he sees Jensen waiting for him. Sadie lolls her tongue and settles outside the Center in a way that suggests she’s happy with this familiar arrangement.

They walk through the door together, at the same time and Jen proffers a handful of change, the full swim fee, but he waves it away. “If you have a moment, after you’re done, nobody shines the sinks and faucets in the changing rooms like you do. We missed you dude. Are you okay?”

Jen signs ‘Okay, tired,’ with trembling hands and struggles to secrete the cash in his backpack.  Chad doesn’t miss the paleness of his face or the way Jen’s freckles stand out in stark relief. The cough that bubbles from the back of his throat has Chad frowning at him and looking at the dark, damp patches on his clothes.

“Don’t over do it, Jen, and get yourself a good hot shower after, ‘kay?”

Jensen’s not looking at him any more and Chad isn’t sure that he’s heard him. Chad sighs and returns to his morning routine.

By 7:00 a.m. Jensen’s body cuts through cool, chlorinated water. His strokes are smooth and even but by ten lengths he is slowing and at twelve he swallows water as he coughs, which makes him splutter and choke. He swims fifteen lengths and his legs feel like jelly when he climbs the ladder and exits. When he returns to the changing rooms to collect his miniature towel, Chad is waiting for him. It is unusual and gives Jensen the jitters, even more so because he cannot see his clothes anywhere.

Chad holds up a huge, fluffy towel and hands it to him. “Last shower on the right is hottest and there’s soap in the dispenser. Use your towel to dry, then wrap this one around you and come to the lifeguard’s mess room. I’ve put a heater on in there.” Jen’s eyes widen and Chad raises his hand up in a peculiarly strong _stop_ motion which morphs into a pointing finger wag.  “You don’t get a choice because your clothes are in our dryer. You are not leaving here in damp clothes, dude. You were wet through, and it’s not healthy.” 

Jensen is uncomfortable in the plastic bucket chair and the waves of radiant heat from the little halogen heater are almost unbearable, but the mug of hot chocolate that Chad has forced into his hand is sweet and delicious. There is a door to reception on one side and another door to the pool on the other, Chad has left the door to reception ajar and Jensen is acutely aware that anybody crossing the lobby can glance through the gap to see him, wrapped like an errant child. A number of people come in to use the pool and the gym, some gossiping in pairs, others focused and alone. They are all Padalecki employees, and he recognizes most of them. Some of them glance at him but none of them say anything. He is absently padding at the thick soft fibres of the towel when there’s the sound of a honey drawl, and Chad’s jumpy, unconvincing reply.

“I don’t recognize that man. We agreed exclusive hours for Padalecki with your bosses, Mr. Murray.”

“He’s a friend, just tryin’ out, we’re always on the lookout for potential life guards.”

Jared’s hair is damp but he’s letting it fall forward over the blues and yellows that color his swollen eyelid and bruised cheek. He’s dressed for work after a gentle gym session and leans slightly to one side with an arm against his bruised ribs. Chad is unnerved by the intensity with which the Padalecki CEO is regarding the towel-swaddled man. It makes him think of a starving man at a Thanksgiving feast. The knowing way that Jen is raking his eyes over Mr Padalecki’s smartly suited body is worthy of a gay porn movie (which Chad is never going to admit to having watched, however drunk he was at the time) and is equally alarming, especially since he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jen as much as acknowledge another person.

The scabbing lip curls, “You’re a bad liar, Mr. Murray. If you want to support a local charity, then that is admirable, but don’t do it on our time. Is that clear?” He speaks the word charity with a particularly nasty inflection and Chad winces but it doesn’t alter the tramp’s stare.

“He’s in a private staff area. It is no concern of yours, sir.” Chad is polite but he can’t believe his own words as they tumble from his mouth, they are just asking for trouble.

If looks could kill, Chad would be on a life support system, but Jared doesn’t say anything else. He’s leaving when Jensen doubles over with a hacking cough that has his eyes watering. The noise forces a look over the executive’s shoulder and for a moment something other than derision flickers behind his façade. It’s probably the closest thing to concern that Chad has ever seen on his face. It doesn’t last, and he watches his back recede as he leaves.

“What was that all about?” Chad takes advantage of the lull in business to return to the mess room.

Jen shrugs and sips at his hot chocolate.

“He’s good looking,” continues Chad, “Doesn’t mean he’s a good man. Not at all.”

There’s another shrug from the man in the towel.

“Your things should be dry now.” He collects them from the utility cupboard and hands them over. They are fragrant with the smell of clothes freshener and warm to the touch and Jen instinctively brings them to his nose and rubs them against his cheek before tucking them under his arm to sign ‘Thanks.’

“Well there’s a cost, my man.”  Chad smirks and Jen stiffens with worry.

“Your friend Sophia was here looking for you. Task one is to find her and let her know that you are alive and well. Task two is to make sure she knows what an awesome buddy the Chadmeister is, because dude, she is one classy lady and she needs a classy man like me in her life.”

Chad is being all kinds of cheesy and has both thumbs pointing to himself. Jensen relaxes. Growing up with a cocky big brother means he’s used to boy talk and bravado.

 “Of course if you were interested I wouldn’t hit on her because we’re pals, right? Pals don’t do that. I figure you’ve had plenty of time to do her if you wanted and besides,” Chad shakes his head, “Padalecki? Seriously? Not only are you batting for the other team, you have super bad taste in men,” he draws breath, hoping he hasn’t misread the signs.

Jensen is concentrating on the conversation. It’s the most human he’s felt in a long time. Chad said they are _pals_ and it’s a warm, happy feeling to hear the word. Friends are a good thing. They are on his list, and there’s been no judgement for his preferences. A small grin graces his face crinkling the lines around his eyes. He puts his mug and his clothes on the table,  ‘He’s not bad, he just thinks he is.’ It’s the longest and most intimate thing he’s signed in forever, and it’s kind of amusing that he’s half naked in a strange room with Chad, of all people.

Chad does a double take, his ASL is hardly perfect. It is a requirement for his job but it was a short, basic course and there were a number of hot sports ed. chicks from the local authority that took the classes with him. It was kinda distracting. He never expected a signed discussion in real life. He stares at his own fingers slowly translating parts back before he mostly gets it.

“Oh, wow.” Chad is suddenly serious. “Jen, you don’t know him.”

There’s sad, lopsided smile that Jensen gives, ‘I really do,’ his fingers work. He gulps the last of his drink and grabs his clothes.

Chad’s voice follows him, “Hey, how?  Don’t leave me hanging here,” but the manager has clients to attend to and an enquiry at the desk

Jensen shines the changing rooms until they gleam. He’s all alone, in the sterile white and blue. He relaxes and lets a vibration rise in his throat, there’s a grating hum which echoes against tiled walls before he coughs. It scrapes his throat and tightens his lungs but it is all sound and that’s good.

Padalecki Inc.’s CEO scowls at his doorman and slams the glass door too hard behind himself. The receptionist bids him a good morning and one of his marketing managers hurries to keep the elevator door open for him. There’s a flurry of good mornings in the elevator and in the corridor that connects to his office. If anyone notices Jared’s bruises nobody is going to mention them.

Alona closes the tabs on the exclusive gay dating agencies she’s been browsing just before Jared stalks past. He picks a mug out of her outstretched hand and takes a sip.

“This coffee tastes like shit, Alona.”

Yep. Jared Padalecki definitely needs to get laid.

He clicks his briefcase open on his desk and pulls a stack of papers from it, “Where’s the figures?” Jared yells through the open door at his assistant.

Alona grins, nothing changes. “Misha’s on his way up.”

“Oh.”

Alona fiddles with her hair as she checks the mail. She feels his gaze on her and sits a little straighter.

“You have bags under your eyes. You should make sure you get enough sleep.”

She quirks a brow, “You’ll have to speak to Misha about that, sir.” Alona fights to suppress the giggle that’s bubbling in her chest and continues with the mail straight faced. 

There’s a momentary stillness from her boss, then he tilts his head as if he’s about to speak but decides not to.

“What’s my schedule?”

“Misha says he has good news first. You have a ten o’clock with marketing for the Rainbow Factory’s new launch. Lunchtime is free, you have a personal appointment pencilled in for two, Jeff has requested to fit him in for three, and commerce has sent some contracts for you to approve. There are a couple of major equipment sales to sign off. I’ve put them on your desk.”

“Right. Good.”  He takes the documents that she’s waving at him and grips them over tight, “Ms. Tal, can I call you Alona? Yesterday was, er odd. I’m sorry for the whole, well you know.”

She taps her foot and Jared is reminded of a strict school marm, “The whole, throwing me out into the cold without the courtesy of a cab.”

“Yes, um, that.”

“You can call me Alona, sir, and I’ll forgive you this time, since there were mind altering drugs involved.”

“ ‘kay. Good then, and call me Jared. It’s, well, should have been that before now really. Good chat.”

She’s smiling up at the big man with wonder. Who would have guessed that she only had to take a firm attitude to get the guy to roll over like a puppy?

“Oh, there’s one more thing. Be a doll and nip over to the pharmacy for me. Get a bottle of cough syrup. None of the cheap stuff. Something that works.” He pauses to think, “...and some of those cold and flu capsules, ones that can be taken with the syrup.”

_Oh well, Rome wasn’t built in a day_ , she thinks, internally cringing at the menial task and the way it was worded. “Sure Jared. Do you feel like you have a cold starting?”

“No.” The look he gives her implies it’s a crazy question and she breathes slowly and counts to ten in her head.

Misha has the most excessive and ridiculous grin on his face when he arrives. He has acres of paperwork and a bottle of champagne in his hand. He’s shaking the bottle and there’s no time to question it before there’s an explosive pop, a cork whizzes across the room to crash into the wall and a fountain of bubbly liquid hits the ceiling tiles and drips back to the carpet.

“What the fuck, Mish?!” Jared gasps. The sweet smell hangs in the air and there’s the faint fizzing of bubbles dissolving into the thick woollen pile.

The blue eyed man hands the foam-wet bottle to Alona who grabs tissues to wipe the mess and disappears in a search for wine glasses. Misha embraces his friend, he pulls back and hands him a pen and two files, “Sign them.”

“Ouch!” Jared rubs his sore chest before putting pen to paper with a flourish and looking questioningly at his friend.

“I didn’t want to say anything before now. I’ve checked and checked again. The IRS has confirmed that we will be receiving a tax rebate in order of about a million, we’ve completed sales of redundant stock and equipment in all of our factories and we are well ahead of forecasts. Jay-man, I am looking at the permanent majority shareholder of Padalecki Inc. We did it! Even with Linden, even accounting for any number of disasters that can befall us before the audit is signed off, there’s nothing that can take you into the red in the next few weeks.”

“We overpaid taxes? How did that happen? Christ! You sneaky bastard, you put up a smoke screen didn’t you?”

Misha shuffled a little, “I may have made a small error in favor of the IRS when I first arrived. It’s a very, very safe place to hide a substantial sum, as long as you know how to retrieve it in good time.”

“Crazy bastard.”

“But you love me.”

“Yeah, man. I do. Shit!” Jared is feeling light headed and he hasn’t had a drop of bubbly. He sits heavily in his huge leather swivel chair. Two years of heartache and stress. He has his affirmation; he is every bit as good at business as his father was, maybe better. It should feel special and exciting but all he feels is empty. He surmises that it’s probably a mix of shock and disbelief. He will allow himself to be dizzy with success later. Until then, there’s a little matter of cup cakes. Rainbow is launching a new cake mix, and he’s promised to look over their marketing plans and give them the congratulations they are due. “Mish, put this on ice, I have a marketing meeting.”

“Seriously? They don’t need you there. C’mon Jay. This is epic.”

It doesn’t feel epic. It feels like kicking his brother when he’s down, and now he’s regretting the bitter reprisal that was specifically aimed, in high definition photographic glory, at Jeff’s wife, the day before. “Rainbow has turned in a good profit for us and their R & D department has worked hard at this, I think they’re owed, don’t you?” Jared is uncharacteristically short with Misha. “It’s 9:30 in the morning. Get a carton of orange juice and let your team have mimosas at morning break. They've been stars.”

Misha claps him on the back, “And that is why you are so good at this business. We’ll catch up later, ‘kay?”

There’s the sound of a throat being cleared and they turn to find Jeff standing in the doorway. He’s looking at them with his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Jeff, did you want to see me?” Jared’s voice is quiet.

“We have a meeting at three if you’re not too busy celebrating. Until then I was going to take a few hours off. I have some boxes to move, from home, y’know. I said goodbye to the kids this morning but Lacey says she’ll be out today if I want to take my clothes and things. I’ll be staying at the Marriott for now.” Jeff’s eyes are bright and watery, his suit is rumpled and his shoulders are sagging.

Seeing his brother in distress is like a punch to the gut. Jared takes strides over to him. His first reaction is to put an arm around him and draw him close but Jeff backs away. Jared drops his hands to his side and waits for the physical assault but his brother doesn’t move to strike him.

“You did this. Don’t you even …” Jeff snarls, “This isn’t over, little bro. It is far from finished.” Jeff’s words are a promise and a threat, and they are spoken with chilling intent and resentment.

Jared is full of tension as he watches Jeff exit the building and climb into a cab by Padalecki Gardens. He picks up the binoculars that lie on the ledge, intending to capture the detail of his brother’s face but is captivated instead, by Jen, who sits on a bench in the gardens, like he’s never been gone. He has Sadie at his feet, a pastel in his hand and the sketch pad on his lap. He’s working with absolute concentration, and his tongue sticks out between his teeth. Jared adjusts the Nikon focus to its finest. He can almost count the freckles and touch the long lashes. It has a strangely calming effect on him. His heartbeat slows to a steady rate and he breathes deeply. He tears his attention away with reluctance but not before noticing the heavily built man who loiters at the garden gates pointing some sort of camera phone at the absorbed artist. He wonders if he is Jim Beaver’s man and makes a mental note to ask.

“Your ten o’clock has arrived.” Alona’s voice cuts into Jared's thoughts, she sounds disturbingly happy. “Look! Everyone has cake.” Between shiny painted fingernails his P.A. is holding a garish, multi-colored cup cake in a case adorned with a bright rainbow. “It’s like a unicorn’s tea party,” she grins cheerfully, before wandering off to pour herself a coffee to accompany the treat.

Jared puts his hand to his face in mock despair, “Give me strength,” he mutters, then yells after her, “There’s a market niche!” He just has to remember that for the next ninety minutes.  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Cupcakes are simple, cupcakes are easy and if he pastes on a smile, claps at the end of the presentation and shakes everyone’s hand then it doesn’t matter that his head is a whirlwind of guilt, confusion and lust. That is as long as the lust thing doesn’t end in an embarrassing physical reaction, because honestly, the image of Jen at the swimming pool, half naked with wet spiked hair, freckled shoulders and the most perfect feet, is getting to him. It’s easy enough to contain though, when he can switch to a scene of his nieces and nephew crying at the knowledge that their daddy isn’t coming home and it is all Uncle Jared’s fault. Then there’s the knowledge that this is it for him, the rest of his life decided. He’s an A class industry leader in the ‘ready to mix’ food market and he’s not feeling the excitement, glitter and rainbows of it, not at all.

Jared pulls his attention back to the conference table as voices are raised. There’s a heated debate and that wasn’t expected. Then, everyone is turning their heads to look for his opinion and he hasn’t got one because he hasn’t been listening. He looks helplessly at the giant cupcake that is split in half and on display in the middle of table, between the men in suits. “Um,” he says. The colors in the cake don’t exactly curve like a rainbow but they are all there, in a toddler-esque parody of one, and it is a huge invention for the ‘add water, mix and bake’ cake market. No other producer has perfected marbling to this degree and it’s down to the little disposable plastic gizmo that their scientists invented, to twizzle in the mix and spread the dye correctly. It’s not going to change the world but it’s a little bit awesome, and there should be no reason for an argument.

“Um, can you sum up both sides of the debate for me?” Jared draws himself to his full size with a ‘ _don’t mess with me’_ attitude, and he can see the Marketing Manager and one of the factory representatives biting their tongues to prevent a sarcastic remark.

The Marketing Manager spits his fury first, “This is a family company, with family values. We cannot associate Padalecki products with dirty fags.”

Well that’s certainly a strong opinion. _My father’s opinion_ , thinks Jared.

Two of the factory suits are holding another in his seat, “Rainbow has always represented equal rights and loving family values. What business did Padalecki think they were buying out four years ago? We are still targeting children and families but not all families are the same and there’s a whole sector of the market in student halls and youth. We are progressive and inclusive. This will expand our market base. Launching in the same week as our local LGBT movie week will give it huge visibility.”

_And that is a superb idea_ , except that the Padalecki investors and shareholders are old school Texas with pretty much the same ‘traditional values’ as his bigoted father. The conflict is already giving him a headache.

“I will not work with a filthy bunch of unnatural queer supporters and I know that Padalecki Inc. will uphold this.” The Marketing Manager is going to bust a vein and the Rainbow executives look about to launch into a full blooded assault on the man.

Jared rubs at his temples. He doesn’t need this today and he’s reached the end of his tether.  “Are we recording this for the minutes?” he asks. There is ice in his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Padalecki, sir, and I’m taking notes.” It’s a bright young man, somebody’s assistant’s assistant but he always seems helpful.

“Good,” says Jared. “Will somebody do me a favor and grab one of our staff handbooks and bring it in. Thanks.” The same young man moves to get up, “No, you’re taking notes. Mr. Adams can do it,” he nods to a pudgy middle-aged man with perspiration dripping from his brow.

The Marketing Manager has his chest puffed out in self righteous anger, “I shall make a note to keep the launch as originally planned then, Mr Padalecki, sir.”

“Did I give that answer?” Jared’s eyes are narrowing and a few of the sensible attendees have nervously averted their gaze.

One of the senior executives from Rainbow is out of his seat and Jared already knows where this is going because he’s met him several times and Jared's gaydar is anything but faulty. He wonders how intuitive the other man is about Jared being in the closet. “Sit down!” he snaps. “We can make the decision when I’ve had a chance to look at your proposal and the figures.”

The Marketing Manager sneers, “And the figures will tell us that self respecting, wholesome, American families aren’t going to buy fag food.”

Something breaks in Jared, “Does anyone else feel that way?” he asks, his apparent calm betrayed by the red flush creeping up his neck.

There is silence in the room.

Mr. Adams hands his CEO a thin publication and Jared flicks through it until he finds the relevant section. He opens it and bends the pages so it stays, flat and readable as he flings it. It skims with speed over the smooth polished surface of the conference table, and with uncanny accuracy it comes to rest in front of the Marketing Manager.

There is something cathartic about having an actual book to throw at somebody when you are throwing the book at them. The staff hand book that every employee has signed up to adhere to, is very clear about offensive language and equal rights, even if Jared’s father hadn’t been. By lunchtime there is an empty desk and a vacancy for a senior role in Padalecki Inc.’s marketing department.

Jared takes a chance and sits on the far end of the bench in Padalecki Gardens. He shades his eyes from the low sun and speaks. “You can swim. I don’t mind.” He twirls his cufflinks and looks sideways at the green-eyed hobo. The long fingers have paused their sketching and Jen is staring at the page as if it holds the answer to all the mysteries of the world.

“It’s hard to do this, be this, and it works better when everyone thinks I’m an asshole. If they think they’re getting away with one thing it leads to another. Once they sense weakness it all falls down, and I’m not strong enough to pick it all up. Not nearly.” Jared isn't sure what has changed to make the truth flow from him but there’s nobody he can say this to. Even Misha would laugh and tell him to pull it together. Perhaps a therapist would be a solution but they will want to delve and analyse. Jen was there when he was at his most vulnerable and it should freak the hell out of Jared but nothing awful had happened, he was safe with him. More than that, Jen somehow found the crack in his soul, art is the therapy that never fails to comfort him. It is a puzzle, but it is far from frightening. The man is mute, whatever he tells this unusual tramp, it will remain unspoken. Jen could write it down but who is there to take an interest in his scribblings?

A lack of response encourages Jared to continue, “I fired somebody today. One of my father’s favorites. I probably screwed up, but there are some things that I can’t keep silent about. I don’t think I can pretend for the rest of my life.”

There’s the creak of wooden slats and sudden, solid warmth by Jared’s side. He startles as a soft hand finds his and squeezes it. Another hand reaches to delicately brush his hair from his bruised face. It’s unexpected but oddly welcome, and he leans into it. He wonders if stress has made him lose his mind.

“What do you see when you look at us? What are you drawing?”

The fingers fall from his face, there’s a rasping breath and a cough which Jen covers quickly with a tissue. When he’s finished coughing he pockets the tissue, reaches to the sketch pad and flips the cover. Jared senses the cool, assessing stare of bright green eyes on his face as he inspects the page.

It is drawn in black, blues and greys with pools of golden yellow illumination. The Padalecki building looms dark under thick clouds and around it is wrapped a giant python. The snake is tightly coiled and spiteful. It crushes the fine brickwork and stone lettering, scattering fragments that pile onto a lamp-lit sidewalk. It is both fantastic and sinister.

“You see _that_? What am I, the snake?”

The hand squeezes his fingers once more and Jared looks into the face of the artist by his side. Jen is shaking his head from side to side. _No_. The other hand reaches again and brushes under his jacket, over his shirt by his sore ribs and Jared flinches. There’s an expression on the tramp’s face and Jared knows there is communication. It is something he should understand, but it is too difficult. There’s a footfall nearby and Jared abruptly pulls his hand from Jen and moves to put a gap between them.

“Jen, shit! Where have you been?” There’s a petite brunette meter maid enveloping the hobo in a loose embrace.  She shuffles up on the bench, sandwiching the hobo between them. Jen looks uncomfortable and a little alarmed, but he stays still. It’s a tight squeeze on the seat, Sadie is wriggling and licking the woman with enthusiasm and she’s reaching into her satchel with the dog nosing curiously at it.

‘ _About_.’ Jen signs, and Jared wonders what he is saying.

“Who is your friend?” She makes no effort to hide the way she looks Jared up and down, “I’m Sophia,” she says to the executive, with a smile, “Do you like cakes? They are giving away these awesome cakes from the building over there. They’ve got little rainbows.” She’s retrieved two wrapped cupcakes from her satchel and hands one to her friend, she’s eyeing the other and looking at Jared regretfully, “I only took two,” she admits, and he laughs.

“It’s okay, you can eat yours. I had the same idea.” He holds up a paper bag, reaches in to retrieve a matching pair and gives one each to Sophia and Jensen.

Sophia smacks her lips and groans in admiration for the sweet treat. “This is brilliant but it needs frosting. This would be so good with the frosting you squirt from a can. You know the stuff,” she looks to Jared as she tries to recall the name.

“Nana’s,” he grates out between gritted teeth. _Danneel would be smug about that,_ he thinks.

“Mmhmm. That. Oh orgasmic! Imagine this with the special edition, stripy stuff.”

“Imagine,” he mutters, “What do you think Jen?” 

Jen has closed his sketch book and is poised on the edge of the seat, chewing slowly. He’s zoned out from the conversation. Sophia catches Jared’s eye over the green-eyed man’s head. “Don’t be offended. He doesn’t keep up with small-talk very well. I didn’t get your name.”

“I’m Jared. Look I have to be somewhere, but it was nice to meet you Sophia.”

“Any friend of Jen’s …”

He’s almost on the sidewalk when there’s a deep, chesty cough. He stops and reaches into his pocket and takes a few paces back. He leans down and drops a bottle of cough syrup and a box of cold tablets onto the sketch book and Jen looks up, “I forgot. You should have these and try to stay somewhere dry and warm,” he pauses and thinks for a moment, “You mustn’t take them all at once, there’s instructions.”

Jen huffs and Sophia is indignant, “He’s different, not stupid, Jared.”

The tall man reddens and scratches his neck. “Well, anyway ...”

There’s a tug on his hand and Jen is writing on the cover of his sketchbook. Jared follows the flow, * _I will take the correct dose. Thank you.*_ The pressure on his hand doesn’t cease and the writing continues, * _You are the building.*_

Fingers trail soft and slow over Jared’s palm as the silent man releases his hold, it stimulates a delicious tingle that travels his spine and curls his toes. The businessman is open mouthed, lost for words, and he’s not sure if it is in response to the written revelation or to the action. 

When Sophia returns to work Jensen checks the list in his journal and breathes deep. He whistles Sadie to his side and walks with purpose to the Market Street Shelter and writes a note, asking for Christian. The tall blonde lady tells him that Christian isn’t there but he will be working, in the evening. He sits on the steps to the side of the door and waits.

Jensen doesn’t notice Katie telling him that he should come inside or find another place to be and she decides not to force the issue. She remembers this strange vagrant banging his head on the wall, in the gap between the trash bins, and doesn’t think she can deal with a similar incident on her own.

Sadie rests her head on Jen’s knee and he looks up to the blue. He catalogs the colors. He names every shade and numbers them. He counts the aeroplanes that fly in the sky and judges if they are outward or home bound.

Clouds start to gather and bodies step past him, some of them talk, but they aren’t in his reality.

Jared’s cell phone is vibrating and there are numerous messages to contact Alona, with the word URGENT in an ever increasing font size. He has no doubt that there are a number of people that think the morning’s events merit urgent attention but he’s not one of them. He switches the device off and welcomes his PI with a double shot Americano and white chocolate muffin.

“Well, I’m surprised. After the midday business news, I was kinda expecting you to cancel our meeting. I have to guess you want names and blood.”

“Business news?” Jared is lost, “I’ve not seen anything.”

Jim’s brows rise, “Have you not seen your share prices this morning.”

“I was in meetings and then I was here. Hang on.”

“Let me save you the bother. I have internet on my cell, It’s been an entertainin’ mornin’. If you’re not you,” Jim looks smug. It is his usual expression when he knows more than the person he is with, which is always.

The screen is turned to face him. A news page is displayed. A screaming tabloid headline announces, ‘Padalecki Inc. Feeding the Devil.’  Jared snorts. It is a lame title. He wonders if he can somehow tie in advertising for their Devil’s Food Cake Mix. Underneath the banner is a picture of Jeff and Danneel. It isn’t exactly unexpected, he’s the one who leaked it to the press. “So?” he asks and shrugs.

“There’s more.” Jim scrolls the page. “Oh. Here.”

Jared tilts the screen to see better and gasps. The phone clatters to the floor. “That’s not possible. Nobody has that. Not even Matt. There’s only one copy and it’s in my safe.”

“Well Princess, maybe your _intimate_ friend Mr. Cohen lied, or the picture has an alarming ability to teleport. Nice butt by the way.” Jim picks up the phone and squints at the image, turning it in his hand. “You could have a career in gay porn. I could give you some numbers.”

“This is …” Jared is losing the power of speech and his eyes are bugging out of his head.

“Surprising, annoying, disastrous for your share price as investors pull out in numbers?” Jim continues unhelpfully, then sighs and softens his approach. “I assume Matt’s wife didn’t know, or your family? Who else knew? This came out of left field for me. It’s not like I don’t know you are gay, but it’s never been my business to pry into it. For what it’s worth, you may be an asshole but nobody deserves to be outed like that.”

“Gee, thanks Jim.” Jared rolls his eyes with the sarcasm. “My family knew. Pa knew. Frickin’ hated me for it. Matt’s wife, no. Oh, Christ! What a mess. I don’t understand who would have done this, or even who could have done.” He covers his head with his hands.

“I guess Mrs. Cohen knows now. I hate to bring Jeff into the discussion but things have a habit of getting messy between you. Is there a reason he might have wanted revenge?” Jim scrolls back to the page with Danneel and Jeff.

“Of course, but it’s not him. It’s not what he does. He wouldn't."

“For a fee I can find out.”

“No. It won’t take it out of circulation. I’ll be paying the lawyers for that.”

“Your father would have demanded revenge.”

“I’m not my father.” Jared bangs the table in frustration as he speaks, “Shit!”

“No. There’s a picture that proves it. Your father wouldn’t have been photographed in a compromising position with another man…”

“That’s not hilarious Jim.” Jared sighs, “You said you had something on the fires.”

“You’re gonna let it go, just like that?”

“What else can I do? The press already have it. I am gay. Hell, it had to come out sooner or later. Bitching to you isn’t going to aid damage control. I can be certain that Jeff and Alona are already on that. We’ll think of something. I need to know what else might hit the fan, so let’s get on with it.”

“Well, ain’t you the optimist.”

“Jim,” It is a growled warning.

“Your brother tried to hire me. I let him tell me all his troubles before I mentioned I had a conflict of interests. He wasn’t amused. I’m sure he has found someone with adequate qualifications and experience by now. What is interesting is he thinks you may have been stupid enough to start the Linden fire. Ironically, the cops are directing all their energies on Jeff. They are confident that they will be arresting him once the paperwork is approved.” Jim slips an envelope under the table. “I’m sorry. All I’m getting out of the department is that the evidence is solid. My sources are drying up on me, Padalecki has a reputation and they know this is under close scrutiny. Nobody wants a leak to be traced back to them. If it is any consolation, all other cases have been reopened and closed again. There’s nothing to suggest foul play with any of them, except Linden.”

Jared is pale and his fists clench and unclench slowly. He’s shaking his head and looks to be in shock. Considering the sort of day Jared is having Jim thinks it is possible, but he isn’t a nursemaid and he needs to wrap this up. Time is money and Jim has promised time to other clients this afternoon. 

“How long?” Jared asks shakily.

“Today, tomorrow maybe. He could make a run for it, but it will get him convicted in absentia. If he is innocent, his best move is to co-operate until we track down the son of a bitch framing him. Do you want to do that?”

“Yes, yeah. Anything you need, usual rate and method.”

The PI nods. He motions to the waitress to refill their cups and settles back into his chair. “Good. See, I have a starting point. I don’t believe in coincidences, and all of this crap,” Jim waves his cell phone and points at his papers and envelopes, “shouldn’t magically happen, all at once. Generally there is a motive.”

Jared will take what information Jim has for him but he isn’t going to discuss his father’s will with him. He shrugs.

“You know, it’s real hard to work for folks who won’t tell you what you need to know, to help them.” The remark is thrown with sharp accuracy toward Jared.

“You said you have a starting point. I’m listening. I’m interested in your theory.” Jared’s eyes glitter hard steel.

Jim flexes his shoulders and opens a thick file. “I’ll begin then. Since this involves Padalecki Inc., as a whole, I have assumed revenge as a motive. I went looking for people you pissed off as a family or as a business. As it happens, finding someone in that pile is like looking for a needle in a haystack. I hate to say it but you’re ruthless bastards and there’s a lot of discontent left behind. Never mind. It was my conversation with Jeff that had me pondering. Of all the things you could be worried about there was one thing that had the pair of you panicking; the Becks explosion. The investigation isn’t being reopened but you both mentioned it, and I can read guilt Jared. It is all over your face now, and it was all over Jeff’s.”

“I went back. I took a look, wondered what I’d find. It was interesting, in a way, but don’t forget the capacity in which I have worked for you and for your father for the last six years.”

“The Becks case is closed. It’s never being reopened, but I think you and I know the official inquiry was bullshit.”

“According to the report an unknown worker, possibly Josh Ackles, brought in a CD player that created the spark and caused the explosion in a poorly filtered and badly maintained room. The fire and smaller explosions spread rapidly through the entire factory. It was, apparently, a nasty accident caused by a piece of electronic equipment that shouldn’t have been there.”

“If you know the ways your father worked, if you look carefully at bank accounts and documents, then there is a disparity. The report has been altered and certain key people paid off. It stinks of cover up, yet Padalecki Inc. took full responsibility, even admitted criminal negligence. They paid millions in compensation. That is very unlike your father. Why cover it up if it takes your business down? See, that puzzled the hell out of me.”

“So I went a little deeper and found the results that never made it to the inquiry. I put pressure on the forensics scientist who took early retirement. There is a theory that Josh didn’t own a CD player and reasons to believe that the one which caused the fire had been tampered with, so it not only caused a spark, but a flame. Then, there was the filtration system. That had been working the day before, and the vents had been sealed with tape overnight. Someone deliberately made that area thick with custard dust. There was gossip that Jeff picked on Josh when they worked the same shifts and most of the town agree that Josh Ackles hated working for your father, but he had family commitments, and there isn’t a whole lot of jobs in that town.”

“You were what, seventeen years old and your brother was twenty, home from university. You weren’t juveniles. Your daddy sent you and Jeff away to Europe within days of that explosion and neither of you returned until the main investigation was over. Again, if I didn’t know him, I would say that was him keeping you from the upset and pain, but that would be unlikely. He wasn’t Mary Poppins. I’d like to think he was protecting his sons from a prison sentence but he was probably more concerned about his own reputation.”

“No!” Jared is shaking his head, voice low, “It wasn’t like that. You make it sound like murder.”

“Was it? It’s none of my business Jared. I am simply looking for people with a motive. I work for you. I’ve seen far worse. Why justify it?”

“Because it wasn’t. It was …,” the executive suddenly looks very young. Staying silent is no longer an option if Jim thinks the explosion was deliberate. He bites his lip and leans forward so that his hair falls across his face and his voice is barely a whisper, “Josh was always stirring up shit, causing trouble for Jeff. Misha found out Josh was sweet on Cindy in dispatch, so we set him up. It was just a piece of trivial spite. We all knew that certain areas of the factory had high dust levels and we’d mucked about with static. If you set a spark in the right place you could get a brief arc of flame. It looked spectacular and made you jump but it was nothing more than, say, a tall flame from a lighter. It was supposed to make him look stupid, maybe singe his eyebrows or burn his fingers. If it meant he was caught in a prohibited area and got disciplined for it, then even better. What happened, it was…” Jared can’t continue, he doesn’t have words for the terror of watching the building burn, counting the injured and waiting for the remains of the dead to be found, knowing it was his fault. He has never found a word to describe the horror and self loathing that comes with the knowledge that he is a killer. It’s always there, inside him, the black stain that sets him apart from good people, marks him as evil. Sometimes he has wondered what it would be like to tell somebody, to let someone else share the knowledge. Now he has, it doesn’t change anything.

Jim Beaver ignores Jared’s wrecked expression. He lays two photographs on the table and points at them. “Tell me about Cindy and Josh.”

“Why? What’s the point?”

“Look, son. I don’t have to do this. If you had been honest from the jump, then maybe your naked butt wouldn’t be on the news. Perhaps you don’t want to remember the shit that happened in your past but I am sure it has everything to do with your present. The devil is in the detail. Shall we continue or not?”

Jared reluctantly agrees. He pulls the pictures toward him and studies them. Josh’s deep-green eyes burn uncomfortably into his conscience. Over the years he has meticulously avoided pictures or articles about the explosion. It brings the memories flooding back; Josh’s eyes had sparkled and he had smiled a rascal’s grin when Jared told him Cindy would be working in the store room. Jared had offered him a CD of her favourite song, before telling him where the player was hidden. Josh had been grateful, spouting thanks at him, while Jeff and Misha remained hidden, stifling cruel laughter.

The photograph doesn’t do him justice. Josh had been Jeff’s age, four years older than Jared and a handsome young man. Jared had noticed him, the beautiful bad boy, and had nursed a huge crush on him. It had been an awkward infatuation. Josh wasn’t gay and showed no signs of being bi. While Jeff was at college, Jared had taken to hanging out in the arcades where Josh and his friends met and the young man had tolerated the youngest Padalecki on the edge of their group.

Sometimes Jared thought that Josh knew why he was there, the older youth would laugh at something he said, then ruffle his hands through Jared’s hair and call him a poor little rich boy, but it was a mixed, casual assortment of youths and there was never a confrontation. When Jeff returned from university for the summer it all changed. He couldn’t risk anyone knowing he was gay, and being seen around Josh would raise questions he didn’t want to answer. Besides, the enmity between Jeff and Josh showed no signs of abating, and brothers stood together. When Misha had thought up the idea of the CD player creating a localised arc of flame in the dusty store room Jared had been uncomfortable about the prank, but he couldn’t admit to liking Josh. It was a stupid trick and they had played similar, foolish games before. It would make the sort of funny story that Josh liked to embellish and tell to his friends and he wouldn’t have to know the truth of it.

Josh had accepted the CD and the opportunity to impress Cindy because he trusted Jared in a way that he didn’t trust Jeff or Misha. He had smiled and thanked him for the poison gift. It hurt to remember that.

He puts a finger on the photograph of Cindy, _the girl he killed_ , and drags it close. “Cindy Sampson. Home from college, like Jeff. She was hot, funny and Ivy League material. Her parents had their own business and she was a spoiled child. She was a cut above the usual factory fodder. Cindy was like us, working at Becks for holiday cash and to appease her parents. She could be a bitch and she slept around but it didn’t prevent her from being one of the ‘ _in-crowd’_. She had a thing for the bad boys. She had her eye on Josh for weeks and he was playing hard to get, but he wanted her too.” Jared pauses, lost in his memories.

“What happened to her parents when she died? Did they get the compensation they were due?”

“They were devastated but they were the first to accept their payment. Pa made sure to apologize in person. He sent flowers to her funeral and bought a bench with a commemorative plaque for the park.”

Jim nods and pushes Josh’s picture at him, Jared stares at it for a long moment. “Josh was Jeff’s age and in Jeff’s class at high school. He was trailer trash. His father was god knows where and his stepfather was in jail. His mother was supposedly a high school teacher but she stayed home with his younger brother. Pa liked us to stay away from all the trailer park kids, but he was particularly adamant about the Ackles being thieves and trouble makers. When we were growing up Josh detested us and it was mutual, but as we got older he focused his hate on Jeff. They were in a lot of the same classes and it gave them opportunity to needle each other relentlessly. At the time I blamed Josh. I even got angry when he stepped into a fight between Jeff and I. Josh pulled Jeff from me and gave him a bloody nose. I was furious that he did that to my brother.”

Jim clears his throat and looks at the bruises on Jared’s face, “Seems you could still use that sort of champion.”

Jared chooses to ignore the remark. He takes a gulp of his cooling coffee and continues, “Josh was the unofficial leader of a gang of local kids. Mostly they were from the trailer park. A few were out and proud which produced a lot of hate. He wasn’t so bad to me. When Jeff was at college there was an unspoken truce.”

“What do you remember of his family?” Jim was coaxing him.

“I don’t remember his mother before the court case. I must have seen her about town but I didn’t notice her. She was thin, haggard and nervy. She smoked a lot and didn’t say much. Maybe she was okay before Josh died, I don’t know. She was a qualified high school teacher. I always thought she stayed at home to look after his younger brother. The lawyers argued that she had medical problems and that Josh had been the main carer for his brother. Jared huffs, “You already know this don’t you?”

“You need to think about it, it will help to talk it through.”

“When we were little, I think I was seven or eight, his brother was in my class at school.” Jared smiles, “I haven’t thought about him in years. He is two years older than me but he has something wrong with him, some mental disorder. Mostly he sat on his own, not paying any attention to the teacher or the rest of the class, but sometimes he acted odd. He would twirl in circles, say peculiar things or shout random words and nobody could touch him because he would hit out or sit in a corner rocking. He was weird,” Jared smiles fondly, “I kinda liked him. We both loved art and sometimes we’d be given a project together. The time with him always went by too quick. It was the only time he talked to me but it was fun. He knew all the names of the colors and could list all the Pantone numbers. He couldn’t paint anything unless the numbers were just right, but I’m not sure how he judged that. He would never use white because it had no Pantone number and that vexed him. He would mumble under his breath and try to invent a number for it, but he said that none ever quite suited it. ”

Jared pauses for a moment while he remembers, “Jensen could be shockingly truthful. He once told Miss Hargreaves that she had big breasts and asked if they were real. It was hilarious.” Jared finds himself chuckling at the memory. “He wasn’t in my class for long. One Monday morning his desk was empty and when I asked, Miss. Hargreaves told the class that Jensen’s Ma was a high school teacher and that she would be giving Jensen his lessons at home.”

“Jensen.”

“Excuse me?”

“You remember that Josh’s little brother is called Jensen.” Jim looks at Jared with a curious gaze, as if he is expecting some reaction.

“I’m sure it was. It was kinda unusual and it suited him. I don’t recall much about him after he left the school. He hardly ever came out of their trailer and when he did, it was with Josh, like he was glued to his side or hiding behind him. Josh might have been a trouble maker but he was devoted to his brother. He would skip school or back out of social events because of him, and it didn’t matter how bizarre his behavior, he would never hit him.”  Jared is caught up in his thoughts again. _I wanted someone to care for me that way._

“Did you wonder why their Ma suddenly decided to give up her career and home-school Jensen?”

“Not really. You don’t think about it at that age. Even the teachers called him retarded and a lot of the parents objected to him being in school with their child. I remember being told by Pa that the Ackles were all thieves and couldn’t be trusted. It must have had some truth because their step-father got put away for burglary. It was rumored that Jensen was expelled for stealing, but kids make up all sorts of stories in the yard. I didn’t believe it at the time, but it may have been true. Jensen was gullible. Someone once told him that it was his turn to take the school flag home to wash. He just went out there, took it down and put it in his school bag. It got him into terrible trouble. The teacher slapped him. She said he wouldn’t understand detention. We called him retard and teased him for it,” Jared blushes with the shameful memories of bullying the boy.

Jim nods, “Jensen was caught stealing, but not at school and not alone. There was a spate of robberies, all elderly residents. The burglars were professional, real slick. Jensen’s step-daddy was caught in your grandmother’s house. He admitted the rest and more, on condition that his accomplice was excluded from proceedings. That accomplice was nine year old Jensen. Reportedly, their downfall was Jensen waking your Grandma, to tell her that the Wedgewood Vase on her hearth was the same color as the sky. Like you say, the boy was weird about colors.”

“Grandma was burgled?” Jared’s eyes widen. “I never knew.”

“They were caught in the act, nothing was damaged or missing, and they surrendered easy. Your Pa played quite the merciful Elder Statesman. He ran that town. He agreed with the local justice department that all records of Jensen being involved could be erased on two conditions. The first; he got to discipline the boy with a strapping. The second; he didn’t want to see or hear of the boy again. Jensen wasn’t to attend school or clubs or even the local health center. His mother agreed to it because the threat was that Jensen be put in a mental hospital if it went to juvenile court.”

Jared frowns. “Jensen wasn’t crazy.”

“I worked for your daddy and I admit to a lot of awful deeds, but I wouldn’t have got involved in that. There are a lot of things your daddy did, but this has to be one of the most despicable. The boy was expertly coached, and like you say, easy to dupe. Your Pa denied that boy his rights for years, when no decent judge would have punished him.”

“So, Josh was right about us. We deserved his hate. If I was Josh I would have killed us all,” Jared pauses to think, “Did you find out what happened to Jensen in the end? I know the compensation included a large sum for him, but I never asked about him.”

Jim leans back in his chair and his lip quirks. He flips his hands in a gesture of ‘ _are you seriously asking that?’_ and waits for Jared to catch up. Jared just stares back at him.

Jim continues, “He stayed in the trailer, just carried on studying. It seems the boy was a full on genius. He got a ridiculous number of diplomas, mostly in business studies and accountancy.  When Josh died in that fire, he got hold of the best lawyer he could find, who would work for a cut of the compensation. For the next five years he set about destroying Padalecki Inc., suing for compensation and an apology for Josh.”

“He was never in court.”

“He didn’t have to be. He was pulling the strings though. He made sure the lawyers kept the Becks explosion and Padalecki’s negligence in the limelight for five years. Your Pa finally settled for a record sum and a reluctant press statement about there being no evidence that Josh had caused the fire. Josh Ackles never got the public apology that Cindy Sampson did.”

“Jensen finally got out of his trailer,” Jared gives a wry smile.

“His Ma still lives there, what’s left of her. She’s a mess. Jensen stayed on for a few years but he’s not there any more. Nobody is sure when he left, just that he adopted a dog from a local animal shelter and sometime later, he wasn’t around.”

Jared scoffs, “He hit us hard. I hope he’s in frickin’ Malibu.” _Five years spent living in fear wondering what the lawyer’s experts might stumble across to ruin his life and prove him a murderer._

Jim stares at him again. Finally, _finally_ something that Jim said registers with Jared. _Jensen adopted a dog_. He has sketched a man with his dog, in the gardens, and the hobo sketched him too. He pulls Josh’s picture up and studies it. Green eyes, pale skin with a dusting of freckles, pink lips and dirty blond hair look back at him. Not an exact match but enough of a resemblance. “Jen,” he breathes, “It can’t be! Josh’s brother could speak.”

“Hallelujah!” Jim gives him a slow, sarcastic hand clap. “Maybe he could when you knew him. Who’s to say what happened to him after? There’s all sorts of ways trauma affects a sensitive child.”

“He’s rich. Why would he be living on the streets?”

“Like you say he’s gullible. He could have given it away or invested unwisely. Just because he was given money and got the exams don’t mean anyone taught him how to spend it. Finding a place to stay requires social skills, which he appears to be lacking. He don’t seem desperate homeless, some are content that way.”

“What does he want?”

“No idea. Perhaps he has a crush.” Jim speaks sarcastically before shrugging and speaking again, “Revenge, I would imagine. Word has it somebody was seen at Linden on the night of the fire, and the description matches your boy.”

“No,” Jared shakes his head, “he’s had the opportunity to hurt me, so many times, and he hasn’t.”

“There’s lots o’ways to hurt. Some are more imaginative than others.”

“Have you been following him?” Jared thinks it’s a little late to suddenly worry about the idea of Jim watching his lewd behaviour.

“Y’asked me to dig, not follow. I can follow if ya want me t’follow.”

“No. I just thought I saw somebody watching him. Broad guy, beard, decidedly heavy.”

“As I said earlier, your brother has obtained the services of another professional. I have a suspicion he was quicker on the uptake with Jensen. I think he recognized him some time ago.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“I’m a PI not a psychic or family therapist. You should consider several things; If you didn’t tamper with the plug on that CD player, who did? How did the store room vents get blocked? There was more than you two Padaleckis involved. Now, I hate to pry, but how much do you really know about Collins Enterprises?”

Jared is quick to anger at the suggestion, “They are practically family. There is no crossover between the businesses. Why would you even bring that up?”

“I’m not making any accusations Jared. Collins is a big, complicated business. I worked for them long before I worked for your daddy and you should know I don’t break confidences. I’ll just say they don’t need me any more. It was how I was recommended to your father.” Jim shrugs and continues, “What are all the things that Jensen knows about you? How many ways can he fuck up your life?”

His mind is in a whirl. Facts shift and swirl, memories mix with emotions and fears. Jensen was at Linden on the night of the fire. Jensen broke into his home. Jensen bypassed his alarm and saw the painting of Matt. _Jensen had kissed him and it hadn’t felt vengeful or angry. Jensen had sketched him and left flowers for him to paint._ None of it makes sense.

Jared sinks lower in his seat and picks at a napkin. “I don’t know. He’s been watching for two years. What doesn’t he know?”

“We can revisit the idea of making him disappear.”

“No!” The refusal is barked out, louder than intended. He steadies himself and returns to a low whisper, “Becks was an accident. I may be a bastard but I’m not a murderer Mr. Beaver.”

“Now, that is an idjit decision but I have to applaud you. Times I wondered ‘bout you. You might yet be a better man than your daddy. ‘Sides, no point in spending money that don’t need spent. I’m sure your brother has it in hand.”

“He wouldn’t. We don’t do that. We aren’t killers.”

“Technically you are.”

Jared cuts him off with a single glance. “There has to be something we can do. I can talk to Jensen. We can reason with him.”

“Good luck with that,” Jim mutters. The PI’s phone beeps, “Oh look, that’s Padalecki stock falling to a new low.”

“Give that here.” Jared snatches the phone and looks at the screen, “I have to deal with this. If you have any instant solutions, call me. I’m not beyond bribery. You know my limits.”

He looks for Jensen when he returns to the Padalecki building but he’s no longer in the gardens. There is a gnawing worry that lingers in the pit of his stomach and it isn’t for what Jen might do to Padalecki. Jared’s world is spinning out of control and truths and certainties have become lies and doubts. He scowls at the doorman and slams the glass door too hard behind himself.  
  
  


 


	12. Chapter 12

It is ebony, moonshine, scudding grey cotton and crystal sparks. Sadie stirs and whimpers, wags her tail and shuffles to lick an outstretched hand. There is the slick splash of tires and tramp of feet through the damp. Umbrella halos and diffuse light break through the black. Behind Jensen are vapid curls of steam from an open door and bright light pools over the grey he sits upon. He is aware of bumpy flesh and clinging clothes. Jensen knows that he lost himself, not for the first time, and he’s come-to with a hot-cold shiver, a razor hot rasp in his throat and a frustration that threatens to burst and spill in anger or tears. He digs nails into his flesh and bangs his head on the wall beside him, he chooses pain instead. Hands reach firmly to his shoulders and stop his motion and a voice cuts into his reality, “Hey there Jen. You wanted to see me?” It’s the Texan drawl of a friend and he remembers not to hit out.

Christian opens a room near the entrance, lugs in some comfortable chairs and turns on the heater. He lets Sadie in, this one time, and fixes her leash to a chair leg. Katie finds dry clothes from the charity box and Jensen changes into them behind a curtain while Christian makes phone calls. The shelter manager returns and fixes Jen with a reassuring smile and pulls up a chair close, directly in eye contact. “You feelin’ better, dude? There’s a detective coming to see you this evening and I’ve met him before, he’s a nice man. He doesn’t want you to worry. He will have somebody to translate your sign language. If you want it to be me, then I’m willing to do that.”

Jensen is listening to every word. ‘Yes, please stay,’ he signs.

“Detective Pearson would like you to have somebody else with you, someone who you trust. He doesn’t have to know them but he will be allocated a social worker or nurse if you haven’t got anybody.”

Christian can see fear at the suggestion of a nurse and is quick to jump in, “I don’t think he needs to find anybody. You have friends and Katie would do it, if you asked. Everyone just wants to make sure that you’re not frightened or uncomfortable with anything and that you have somebody to speak on your behalf.”

‘Do I need a lawyer?’ his fingers move over his palms.

“No. Only a friend. Somebody to stand up for you. Do you have anyone you want me to call?”

Jen spells something out with his fingers and Chris grabs a pen and paper, J–A-R-E-D.

“Jared? Do you have his number?”

Jen frowns. He grabs at his journal and flicks through the pages. He’s looking at every page and he’s getting agitated. He’s starting to rock and the chair leg thumps the floor.

“Jen, you know what? If you don’t have his number, maybe Sophia will come. I have her contact details.”

The rocking slows with Jen’s breathing and he looks relieved. He nods again. He seems to think of something happy and a sudden smile crosses his face. ‘Sophia knows Jared. They eat cakes,’ his expressive hands are working again.

It might be small talk but it’s a big deal for the quiet man, and Chris is grateful to find a distraction while they wait.

“Is Jared on the streets? Does he come here?”

Jen looks aghast, ‘No. Goes home. Is normal’

“Is he good looking? Will he ruin my chances with Sophia?”

The tramp shakes his head, his fingers bend and his right hand moves across his open mouth, ‘Sexy.’ Then he grins wide and cheesy and shakes his head again, ‘Likes men.’

Christian notices the way that Jen unwinds every time Jared’s name is mentioned and he wonders about the relationship. He recalls that Jared was not a name on Jen’s friends list. The Texan knows he worries too much. He sees enough sadness to break his heart on a daily basis and it is unprofessional to get emotionally involved. With Jen he’s already in too far. Some people simply don’t belong on the streets. The man is ridiculously handsome and shockingly innocent. Chris assumes it is only his age that has kept him from the clutches of the more persistent pimps. He feels compelled to ask, “Does he like you?”

Jen’s head drops to his chest as he attempts to hide his flaming cheeks. Christian is relieved to have the tension broken by Katie bringing Detective Pearson into the room. Sophia bustles in a few minutes later.

 

Misha bounces on the balls of his feet. He takes his serve and slams it into the corner of the court to win the game. He punches his hand into the air with the Wii controller wrapped in his finger. “You suck! You suck. It’s official!”

He does a victory dance and Jared groans and tosses his controller to the sofa and sinks into the seat next to it. “Tell me again why Alona can’t come over to take your annoying ass away.”

“She has a girls’ night out and you, you my friend, have a can’t-go-home-if-I-wanted- to-because-there’s-reporters-camped-on-my-doorstep, night in with me.”

Jared groans, “Will they ever give up?”

“Not until you give them blood.” Misha crashes next to him, pressing his side up to Jared’s, no personal space. It isn’t unusual. Misha has never understood the concept. “Dude, you’re sweaty.” Misha scrunches his nose as he says it. 

“You keep this place too hot.”

“Your freaky gay body has its own furnace.” Misha hands him another beer and Jared takes a swig. The liquid slides cool and refreshing down his throat. He's not sure how many bottles he's had and he's feeling pleasantly buzzed, but Misha is talking shop again, “You will have to speak to them eventually, and our employees.”

“Why? Why is it any of their business? I don’t ask if Claire in accounts is cheating on her husband or having threesomes with the mailman.”

“Wow, is she?” Misha sits up straight and looks at him. “I didn’t think you even knew anyone’s names.”

Jared rolls his eyes, “My point exactly. I don’t know. Why would I even ask? It isn’t relevant.” He takes another gulp from the cold bottle. “It could be a good thing. I can be out and proud. Maybe I can get some action at last. No reason to hide at home with my left hand.”

His friend is suddenly attentive. He slams his bottle on the table, “No, you can’t be out and proud until the company is yours and even then you might want to cool it. We’ve worked too hard at this to let it go now. We’ve made the profit. Don’t lose it on share price. You have to deny it. Tell the press it was an experimental phase, that Matt took advantage of you.”

“Why would I do that? I was hardly innocent, you know that. He may have been older, but I did the chasing and I don’t want him dealing with shit he doesn’t deserve.”

“Do you have to come over all goody two shoes? Talk to the press officer tomorrow. She’ll have a plan.”

“If it involves an uncomfortable press conference then I swear I will misbehave.”

“I have a pink satin blouse if you want to sing _I Will Survive_ to them.”

“You don’t still have that? I would have to practise.”

“I do have it,” Misha wiggles his eyebrows and rushes to scavenge in his storage cupboard. They haven’t relaxed together like this in years and Jared really needs to unwind.

An hour later Misha is in a green and pink skirt with a low cut pink top and Jared is wailing in an undignified flat tone, to Gloria Gaynor’s epic, while wearing the shortest black spandex skirt with a sparkly purple top. They are both breathless with laughter. Jared feels lighter than he has in years. “These heels are killing me,” he finally announces, collapsing back onto the couch to lean against Misha, grab at his foot and slide off the killer black stilettos. “I can’t believe you kept these things.”

“Hey, this is the stuff of my youth and I will be young forever. At eighty I will have these clothes and I will still be a better drag queen than my gay friend is.”

Jared bats long, glittery, fake eyelashes at him, “I am not a stereotype.”

“No. Now be a darling and cook us some dinner.”

“I only cook take out, Dah-ling. I pay, you collect.” Jared has a thread of an idea. It is snagging on vague intentions and forming a crazy rebellious plan. In this adrenalin inebriated state it is an AWESOME plan. “I need you to go to the grocery store.”

“Jared, I have a spare toothbrush.”

“No. I want you to buy cookie mix or cupcake mix. Even better, both.”

“Jared you own a whole business that produces that, but the good stuff comes from the bakery and is in my pantry.”

“We should bake. The convenience store on the corner does our premium range. Get ten boxes.” Jared licks his lips as he thinks about it. “Oh, and get some of that Nana’s special edition frosting.”

“You want to buy the competition’s frosting?”

“Someone said it was yummy. I could be missing out.” He pouts prettily with lipstick smeared lips.

“Are you mad? It’s late.”

“Chinese and cookies or I sulk. I have a sweet tooth. You know that. C’mon it’s not like I’ll be able to sleep.” The pout deepens.

“I am not staying up all night baking.”

“I never said you had to. You trust me not to set fire to your kitchen, right?”

“No, and I'm not having you feed cake to my babies either.” Misha scowls and hooks a thumb toward the softly lit and impressive aquarium.  
  
"Once, I gave them bread, _once_ and only one of them died _._ I promise I won't feed them any cake, or frosting _."_ He gives Misha his puppy dog look and Misha rolls his eyes. Jared knows he's won. “Get changed before you go. We can do without another scandal today.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Bitch”

At one in the morning Jared is scraping at the mixing bowl and Misha is daintily dropping spoonfuls of mix onto a baking tray. He has given up asking why. Jared has stopped smiling, the rush has worn off and now he’s anxious and thinking too hard.

“What do you think everyone else is doing?” Jared’s voice is a soft query, but it cuts through the quiet kitchen with the metallic scrape of the spoon and the whirr of the oven fan.

Misha startles from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“The kids we went to school with.”

“Dead end jobs in a dead end town,” Misha is quick to reply.

“Do you think that’s what working for us is?”

His friend shrugs, “All factories are. You know as well as I do. They’re necessary and we pay a fair wage. People want those jobs.”

“Do you ever wonder what Cindy and Josh would be doing now? They should be at the peak of their lives, husband, wife, kids. The whole nine yards.”

“Shit!” Misha drops his spoon in to the mix and it sinks with a wet blub. “Why would you torture yourself with that?” He dips a whole hand into the thick liquid and digs the utensil out before sucking the creamy fluid off his fingers with a moan. “It actually tastes great.”

“Do you have to? That is _so_ not hygienic.”

“Admit it, you’re turned on.” Misha swipes his tongue around his lips, gathering every last drop.

Jared whacks him with a wooden spoon. “Seriously buddy. No. You’re disgusting.”

“I’m offended. You must have someone special lined up. Who is he?”

There’s a slight turn to Jared’s lip and a downturn of his eyes and Misha is on it in a moment. “Oh. God! I was joking, but you do.”

Jared shakes his head and however hard Misha pushes he’s not admitting to a stupid crush on the stalker who might be obsessed with taking revenge on him. In the time he’s been baking he’s silently reviewed all the reasons why the attraction is both futile and dangerous but his heart won’t hear the arguments, even while his anger rages. He tries to change the subject but for some reason a question emerges from his disobedient, painted lips. “Do you remember Josh Ackles’ brother, Jensen? He was in our Kindergarten class? Do you think the compensation made a difference to him?”

Misha’s lips press together in a thin line and for a moment there is tension, “The weird one? He’ll be in a cosy little box house with his Ma.”

“Maybe,” Jared stares at the Mexican-pattern wall tiles, “What if all he ever wanted was his brother? Money can never bring him back. He must hate us.”

“It was an accident, Jared.”

“It never felt that way. We would deserve it.”

“Deserve what?”

“Retribution, revenge. To be outed in the papers.”

“Dude, you are sleep deprived. You threw Jeff to the media hounds and he repaid the favor in the hope it would take you down with the share prices. It isn’t rocket science. I am officially closing my kitchen after this batch is cooked.”

They continue in silence and if Jared sees Misha’s sideways glance, full of worry, it is nothing new.

Jensen is too hot and too cold here. It is too confined, too quiet and too loud. There is an uncomfortable feeling of not belonging, of charity and awkwardness. He coughs until he retches and then sits up on the long couch. He breathes in cloying perfume and fresh laundry and it makes his chest constrict. It is still dark and the clacking, fluorescent clock has a big hand at five and a little hand on four.

Jensen doesn’t know why the detective asked him the same questions several times. He had been told there were no wrong answers, and he didn’t have any other replies to give. The man was similarly disappointed with his journal. Jensen hadn’t wanted him to look. It is his journal and it is private but the man had insisted, quoted law that Jensen remembers from the online courses he studied after Josh was killed. He had reluctantly released his hold on it and the man had flipped through the pages, finding little of interest. It was all pointless and tiring. He’d wanted to sleep and his hands stopped talking.  He’s forgotten how to be with other people, if he ever knew it.

He had seen them discuss him. Detective Pearson, Chris and Sophia had gone back to Chris’ office after all the questions were asked. He had altered the angle of his seat to see a sliver of what took place. They had looked toward him as they talked about his cough and his safety and the detective had forgotten that mute doesn’t necessarily mean deaf. He heard that his testimony would be found unreliable, that there was gratitude but there would be no further demands on him. Jensen is happy about that. There had been mention of Jared and he gathered that the cop doesn’t like or trust the youngest Padalecki. There was a heated debate about Jensen’s right to live his own life and then a conversation about the shelter’s policy on pets. Eventually, Sophia and Chris had returned with an insistent proposal and Jensen had allowed himself to be swept up in their kindness and placed in a cab with the meter maid.

He was shivering and uncommunicative when Sophia brought him here. He should have refused but he was exhausted, all out of argument and ready to sleep in the coldest of doorways rather than walk to his squat. He had looked at the ‘No Pets’ sign on the lobby wall and she had scrunched her nose and told him that it was just for the night. If the neighbours complained, she would mention the cannabis plants in their living room.

She had fed Sadie biscuits and milk and found Jensen pillows and blankets to make a bed on her couch. She sat with him as they sipped hot chocolate and Jensen had wanted to know if the hot chocolate was a 'proud to be Padalecki brand' but he didn't ask. It was odd, they claim each other’s friendship and yet they know little about each other. When Sophia went to bed he heard the click of a lock on her bedroom door.  Jensen lay in the dark staring at the ceiling knowing that Sophia was uncomfortable in her bed, worried about the stranger on her couch. If she really knew him, she wouldn't have let him in. 

  
It is five o’clock when Jensen closes Sophia’s front door, making sure the lock catches before dropping a note of thanks into her mailbox. There’s the promise of light in the sky, Jensen whistles to Sadie and takes a walk through the park. His legs feel shaky and reality won’t focus. He stops, too often, to sit and rest on benches, sweat pouring from his brow and into his eyes. It’s okay though, he has a cold. He knows about colds. A cold is a virus. It passes after several days. Until then he doesn’t have to rush anywhere.

Jared gives up trying to sleep in the big squishy bed with the silk covers. He tosses and turns and then sits on the edge and runs his hands through his hair. He tiptoes to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and sips at it. It’s five o’clock and there’s no hope of him getting back to sleep. He stays in Misha’s spare room often enough to have a full set of clothes hanging in the wardrobe so he dresses in sweats and a hoodie, leaves a note for Misha and shuts the door on his way out.

There are a few hours to fill. Jared jogs slowly and stops to look in shop windows and appreciate well-kept lawns. He pulls up his hood and wanders aimlessly for an hour, fading to anonymity on a sidewalk dotted with early risers, night workers and dog walkers.

He groans in exasperation when he reaches the sports center. There are journalists and photographers attempting to blend in with the regular morning pedestrians outside the main doors. He makes sure his hood is pulled forward to cover his profile and he casually alters his pace and direction, heading for the outer door of the swimming pool pump room, which is slightly ajar. Just as his hand touches metal there’s a shout and two of the gossip fiends run in his direction. He swears as he leaps inside and swings the door shut with a clang. The locking mechanism clicks and Jared blows breath. It was too close.

“Hey you can’t …” Chad Murray’s objection fades as Jared tilts his hood back.

“Please tell me you haven’t opened up yet.” Jared seems uncharacteristically _normal_ in an out-of-breath, panicking as if there’s hellhounds on his heels, sort of way. “Press. Photographers,” he adds, as if it makes perfect sense and he isn’t the CEO of Padalecki Inc., stepping around filter pumps and over pipes to get swimming pool side.

Chad looks at his watch. “I was checking the filters, my assistant has the keys.”

Jared catches a leg against a piece of equipment and mutters “Damn!” at the tear in his jogging pants.

“I won’t take any responsibility for any injuries you sustain in this room. You shouldn’t be here.” Chad points out.

The tall man scowls, “Well I can’t be out there. There’s media everywhere and they won’t leave me alone.” Jared’s arms are flailing in his effort to express himself and it reminds Chad of a windmill. Inside he’s delighted to see Padalecki in this sort of distress, but it’s more than his job is worth to be obvious about his mirth or refuse help. He reaches a hand to Jared and helps him to the inner door that leads to the pool.

“I’ll go and make sure that it’s under control in the lobby. Do you know how to get to the gym from here?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Jared waves him away.

He’s almost at the gym when Chad barrels down the corridor at him. “The fortress is breached,” the blond dramatically announces, and grabs his arm to herd him through a set of doors that lead to the swimming pool changing rooms. “You hide here while we mount a defensive strike.” Chad looks over his shoulder as he’s dashing back to help his colleagues, “Wouldn’t it be easier to talk to them?” he suggests. A murderous glare flickers in hazel eyes and Chad doesn’t stick around for an answer.

Jared paces the empty area with its blue lockers and wooden benches. It’s hot and he strips off his hoodie. His steps echo on the tiled floor and he has time to muse over the fast demise of his relatively sheltered life. To be precise, everything has gone to shit since the first day he spotted _fucking Jensen fucking Ackles_ in a crowd of reporters. _Fucking_ _Jensen fucking Ackles_ has somehow been involved in every step of his downfall and he had sat with the guy. He had defended him, or at least chosen to leave him safe. He had trusted him, and there was more if he could ever admit it. He’s angry with the mute man. He’s not entirely sure what he’s angry about, but he knows there’s good reason. He hits out at a locker door, and the tinny racket of it whacking against the next locker is unholy. When it fades, Jared hears a deep chesty cough and he follows the sound to the showers where _fucking_ _Jensen fucking Ackles_ ceases shining the metalwork with his rag to smile at him. _Fucking_ _Jensen fucking Ackles_ is _goddamn smiling_ at him. Jared sees red and there’s an outlet for his frustration standing there, right in front of him.

“Why?” he grinds out and without waiting for an answer he bears down on the smaller man. “Why wait? Why not take what you want? You want to destroy me? Here I am you fucker.” He spreads his arms wide in offering but he is tense.

He doesn’t notice when it is that he gets up close and personal, breathing in Jensen’s chlorine and soap scent, crowding him aggressively. Jensen’s eyes are wide with fear, he’s flushed pink and sweaty and he’s too beautiful that way. His plump lips are open, with his tongue darting nervously between them. Jared is shouting but Jensen isn’t making a sound except for a breathy squeak when he’s backed up as far as he can go and his shoulder hits the tiles with a dull thud.  “You think I don’t know who you are? We are settled. You were paid compensation. There’s nothing more to give. What do you want from me Jensen Ackles?” Jared is clenching and unclenching his fist. This is the first time he’s ever wanted to hit somebody but he can imagine how the sharp crack would feel. The backlash of Jensen’s head on the tiles would crack his skull and the blood would trickle and smear obscenely. He won’t punch him. It has never been what Jared does in a crisis. He’s crimson with temper and yet close to tears. His emotions are in turmoil and he’s near enough to feel the shiver of Jensen’s flesh against him. He can hear the hitch in his noisy breath and feel the hot exhalation of air that whispers deliciously against the skin of Jared’s neck, “Josh is dead. I can’t give him back. What do you want?” he spits the words venomously into Jensen’s ear.

There is a sudden stillness in Jensen, then the mute squares his shoulders and Jared sees rage reflected in their gold-green depths. The man’s jaw is set, and his teeth gritted. In an instant Jared realizes that he doesn’t know anything about Jensen, including how dangerous he might be. Jared isn’t a fighter. He bitches and argues, is underhanded and devious but despite his size he isn’t going to win a fist fight any time soon. Jensen is 6’1” well built and determined. When he flexes his arms and pushes into Jared’s chest, it forces a whumpf of air from his lungs and the larger man falls back, off balance. He doesn’t hit the floor, strong hands grip the top of his arms and whirl him about, until his back meets the jut of the shower button, and he cries out with the sharp pain of it. There’s the patter and splash of cold water raining down on them and he squirms in Jensen’s grasp under the shock of the deluge, until he is off the jutting metal with his back to the icy wall. Water drips down his neck and over his aching chest, making his tee-shirt cling. Jensen is leaning into him, all hard planes and muscular bulk. He is the only warmth in this fall of now nearly-lukewarm water. There are droplets tracking from Jensen’s hair and he is blinking them from his eyes with his thick long lashes. They continue on over his freckled cheeks and he licks them from his upper lip. 

“I hate you,” Jared grinds out, “You’ve ruined my f ..”

Jensen tightens his grip and Jared can feel fingertips digging bruises into his flesh, and then there’s a hot wet mouth silencing him with forceful lips mashing against his. His mind is taking time to catch up but his body is already with the program, there’s a moan from somewhere that sounds suspiciously like his own throat and his hips are swinging to gain friction against the soggy jeans that cling to Jensen’s tight form. His lips part to the prompt of Jensen’s tongue and let it fuck into his mouth.

The steady raining water is nothing but a distraction, providing a beat to match the thrumming of his blood through his veins. This is every wet dream he’s ever had and more because the gaze that burns into him is passionate and full of possession. No one has ever wanted him like this. Jared’s losing his mind and control and his cock is throbbing at attention. When Jensen loosens his grip on Jared’s arms he doesn’t move or push him away, “Still hate you,” he insists as he writhes into the man’s heat, with a silent beg. When Jensen coughs he simply waits for him to finish and remains flat to the wall, waiting to be molded any way the other man wants. Jensen grabs both of his wrists into one hand and pushes Jared’s arms over his head. Jared whimpers a quiet “please” but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He should make it stop but the vision of Jensen is too intense. He never wants it to end. Jensen is soaking wet, every ripple of his muscles accentuated, the droplets sparkle against his pale skin and drip from the hair plastered to his head. His sinful lips are swollen and bitten red, his eyes are dark and he is practically vibrating with lust. _Fuck, shit, Christ_ , they are in a public place making out like insatiable teenagers with the press waiting outside. A slight giggle bubbles to his lips and is kissed away by a greedy, hot mouth.

Jensen’s free hand tracks down Jared’s chest, circles around the erect nipples that push at the tee-shirt, then continue over the sodden fabric, and he grasps the bottom of it, starting to push it up. He pauses for a moment to look directly at Jared with a quizzical expression.

“Yes! Hell, yeah!” 

They are both panting, and Jared can feel Jensen’s diamond-hard cock straining against the dripping denim as they bump their hips together in an increasing rhythm. Jared squirms in Jensen’s hold but there’s no real attempt to free his hands. Teeth nip at the pink nubs of his chest then Jensen sucks hard and worries at them with his tongue. There are throaty little whimpers that resonate from the green-eyed man and Jared finds himself thinking, _I’m doing that, he’s making that sound for me._ It’s been forever since Jared has had anything intimate and it’s never been this intense. “Touch me. I want to touch you,” he’s pleading. They’re struggling to stay upright in the wet of the cubicle but the water has automatically ceased.

Jensen releases just one of Jared’s wrists, leans in to pin him with his chest and kiss at his neck, sucking a purple bruise that feels like a claim, under the lobe of his ear. He snatches at Jared’s sweat pants, pulling them down with his underwear. Jared’s cock is erect and proud, there’s pre-come shining at the tip. Jensen’s touch is tentative and it surprises Jared. He studies the silent man and he’s biting his lip. There’s a mixture of terror and fascination in his face but he grips more firmly and swipes a thumb experimentally to collect a bead of clear fluid from the tip. Jensen brings it to his full pink lips and sticks his tongue out to taste it and Jared can see his curiosity. He screws his eyes and nose at the taste and then relaxes and dips his hand back down to fist at Jared’s eager erection. It is inexpert but enthusiastic and Jared’s mind is short circuiting because _it can’t be._ Jensen can’t possibly be as inexperienced as this suggests.

Right now Jared wants to give him everything. He would beg on his knees to please him if that was what he asked. He drops his free arm slowly to reach for the zipper on Jensen’s denims and slides it open, slowly. When Jensen makes no move to stop him he flips the button to release his cock. It’s huge and magnificent and he takes it in hand without pause, cupping his balls and stroking the pattern of his vein until he’s teasing the tip and then tugging downwards again. They can’t last. Jensen is bucking up into Jared’s hand. His whimpers are raw and animal. The pressure has reduced on his wrist but Jared keeps one arm in place above his head. Jensen is still in a powerful position but he’s incapable with pleasure, head thrown back revealing acres of pale kissable skin. Jared lifts his head from the wall to pepper kisses up his neck, and then capture the delectable lips, kissing him deep and thorough. Jared can’t contain himself any longer, he orgasms with a cry, spilling come over Jensen’s long fingers.

“Oh my God!”

Jared hears the exclamation through the grunt of Jensen’s climax, while there’s a warm splash of come on his hand. He sees movement over Jensen’s shoulder and freezes in horror. Chad is staring, mouth gaping and eyes bugging. His gaze is directed at the wrist pinned to the wall by Jensen’s hand and he’s turning an interesting shade of green.

Jensen is still gasping through the aftershocks of orgasm. Jared can feel the racing thump of Jensen’s heart against his own chest, and his hand drops away to release his hold on Jared. Jensen pulls back from him in pure, feral panic. He takes barely a moment to tuck his sticky, spent dick into his tightening wet jeans and force the zip up. Then he’s skidding on the wet floor, past Chad, to grab his backpack and run from the building. Jared wants to call him back but words aren’t possible. He’s trying to catch his breath and his mouth is opening and shutting, without sound. He grabs at the rag Jensen was using to shine the metal and wipes himself before pulling up his soaking sweatpants for cover. He’s a brilliant shade of beetroot but the glow of sexual gratification _(and how fucking amazing that gratification was)_ is giving him a dopey acceptance of the situation.

Chad is looking everywhere but directly at Jared. He appears as though he’s about to be sick. “Did he ..? Was that ..? I didn’t know he would do that. Do you want me to call someone? The cops? I should … Oh shit! I’m sorry. I am so sorry Mr Padalecki.”

It takes a little while to realize what he looked like, backed against the wall, held and debauched, and what it is that Chad thinks happened. He rouses himself to ask for a towel and the bag of clothes that his note had asked Misha to leave at reception. He pulls himself to full height with his most intimidating pose, ignoring the stickiness at his crotch, “You don’t tell anyone what happened here. Not a word, not a hint, or I swear you will never work again.” He waves Chad away before undressing, switching the shower to hot and soaping the evidence of the morning’s encounter off his skin. It seems unreal but his dirty, wet running garments prove otherwise. He towels himself dry and dresses. Fresh boxers, suit pants, starched shirt with cufflinks, tie, tie pin, jacket, cotton socks, leather shoes. Just like any other morning except it isn’t any other morning, not at all. He combs his hair and stuffs his dirty clothes into a bag before turning to Chad who has been discreetly reading the swimming posters while he was waiting. “You are going to destroy every security image that was taken this morning and I am going to watch you do it.”

Chad is quick to point out, “There isn’t a camera in the showers,”

Jared doesn’t care. He wants every possible trace of his insanity erased.

 Chad continues speaking, using a syrupy voice, aimed to reassure. “Are you sure? What if you want to report it?”

“I don’t want to report it.” Jared’s reply is weary.

“He might do it again.”

Jared is unsure how he feels about Jensen. He still feels a simmering anger, but the man isn’t a rapist and doesn’t deserve to be labelled as one. He blushes as he speaks, “It was consensual,” he mutters rapidly. He thinks that Mr Murray’s eyebrows may lift off his face in response to the simple statement.

“O-kay.”

Jared insists on rewinding the security footage to see snippets of Jensen’s escape through the corridor and out of the lobby. The press had surged forward until it was obvious it wasn’t Jared and then they had lost interest in the wet, running man. Jensen had dashed into the morning crush of people on the sidewalk and disappeared. There’s a tightness around his heart as he notices that he has left Sadie behind, still leashed to the shrubbery. “Do you think he’ll be alright?”

“I don’t know. You must know him better than me,” Chad’s reply has an edge to it. Normally Jared would snap at him but he can’t be bothered.

“I don’t really.”

“Wait! Did you pay him?” Chad blurts out, “Because that is absolutely not allowed on the premises,” and then adds “Actually, neither is the other.”

“There was no payment. He’s not a whore.” Defending Jensen is peculiarly natural to him. “It just happened.”

Jared knows that the dynamic between him and the center manager is changed forever. Chad knows he has a secret that puts Jared in his debt. Chad bounces on his chair and asks another question and he doesn’t bother to hide his sarcastic tone, “Does _that just happened_ , happen a lot to you?”

“No!”

“You let him just run off. Is that it? The sum total of your care for an easy fuck,” Chad sounds pissed, “He’s ill. He shouldn’t be out there wet.”

“It’s not like I can find him, and I’ve got half the state’s gossip journalists on my case. If he wants to find me, he knows where I am.”

“Well you’re positively cuddly after sex, aren’t you?” Chad sneers.

The businessman decides it’s time to utilise his carefully nurtured reputation with this snarky fitness freak. “You think you have something on me, Mr Murray. You do. I’m satisfied that you’ll keep your mouth shut but if you make any more remarks I might assume that you need some help to seal your goddamn lips.”

Jared destroys every disk in the security system and wipes the memory, before running the gauntlet to a pre-booked taxi while the center employees restrain the press.  
  



	13. Chapter 13

The press follow Jared to the Padalecki Building to join others thronging there. Security maintains a barrier while Jared strides up the steps and gives an embarrassed grin to the doorman. He turns while he’s on the top step, scanning the sidewalk and gardens, but there is no sign of Jensen. He’s still high on the aftershocks of his orgasm and he feels mellow. He has no idea what he’s going to do about Jensen. Every time he faces down reporters he’s angry all over again, but he’s worried too. Chad Murray was right about Jen being ill and the man had to be freaked to leave his dog behind.

He hasn’t the time to dwell on it. His attention is drawn to the sight of a police cruiser pulling in at the side of the street. Detective Pearson is engaged in a serious conversation with uniformed cops, he’s giving orders and Jared can see another car by the side exit of Padalecki Inc. He closes his eyes, counts to five and opens them once more, in the hope he is imagining it. There’s no doubt why the detective is here, and Jared is looking at the mass of reporters and imagining the ordeal his brother will go through when he is taken, in handcuffs, through this rabid crowd.

 He won’t allow Jeff to endure the humiliation.

Photographs are being taken as he delays on the step, and he hears shouts and questions directed at him. There’s a particularly strident voice, asking if he is gay. Jared is not known for the wisdom of his snap decisions but he makes one anyway. His next actions are going to create a ruckus. At least, that is the plan. He gives the doorman a set of instructions, texts Alona and then he stands straight, buttons his jacket and runs nervous fingers through his hair. He takes a downward step toward the noisy rabble and waits for the right question to be asked.

“Are you gay, Mr. Padalecki?”

He recognizes the woman, a second rate columnist for a local rag. Jared licks his lips and opens his mouth. At first no sound comes out and then he’s speaking, loud and clear, “Yes, Ms. Smith, I am as gay as a unicorn’s tea party. Not that it’s any of your business.”

There’s momentary silence and then there’s a light storm of flashing cameras and a thunder of noisy questions. He wishes he had a camera to capture the stunned expressions of his receptionist and doorman.

“There’s a large conference room free if the ladies and gentlemen of the press have any further questions for me. I believe we can have refreshments arranged for those who wish to attend.” 

The doorman unlocks the large double doors, while the corridor to the largest conference room is being cleared. Detective Pearson is hanging back, waiting for the mass to disperse. He catches Jared’s eye and gives him a knowing nod and mock salute in an unspoken acknowledgement of the action.

Jared leads the way. He’s the Pied Piper of Hamlin, whistling the rats into the mountain. Alona joins him and he introduces her as they delay the main event by shifting chairs and adjusting lighting, promising drinks and then pouring them from shiny thermos jugs. Every minor inconvenience adds a few minutes to the distraction.

“You stole my line,” mutters Alona as they fiddle with plates of fresh made cookies and cakes, “And you’re lucky these weren’t already gone, you told Misha to give them to the press for breakfast.”

“This is breakfast,” argues Jared. They make for the small teaching podium at the front of the room. While their backs are turned to the crowd Alona hisses at him, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Honestly?” He looks at her with slightly wild eyes, “I don’t know. Professional suicide? Stay by my side.” He gives a puppy dog expression and she sighs. She’s starting to wonder if her boss has an identical twin or a split personality, this version is adorably human.

 The questions start out general, and he makes sure to ramble when he answers.

Yes, the picture of him is real. He will be taking legal action against anybody who published it. Actually, it was taken by an amateur photographer, and he’s not ashamed of it. Yes. He has talked to Matt Cohen, but he would like the opportunity to publicly apologize for getting him caught in the crossfire. He doesn’t regret the affair with Matt. There was mutual respect and love, but it broke up when he realized that he could never compete with the love that Matt has for his wife. Mrs. Cohen is a beautiful woman who doesn’t deserve to be hounded by the press.

Yes, Ms. Smith, he is aware he has a fine ass but he doesn’t want to make others feel inadequate by having it on public display.

Yes, his father knew he was gay. Was there an issue? Jared inherited Padalecki Inc., does any more need to be said?

Padalecki Inc. is his mistress. No, he is not in a relationship at the moment. He’s choking on a glass of water as he says it. He’s not sure what the morning’s encounter would be defined as and he doesn’t need to be distracted by the lewd images of it that are replaying in his head.

No, being gay does not make him any more or less predisposed to having baking skills.

There are pockets of laughter between serious topics and only a few of the reporters are being malicious or homophobic. They all seem genuinely surprised to see this lighter side of the businessman.

Yes, he is aware of Jeff’s affair. It is not his place to discuss it, sometimes marriages break down, and he is there for his brother and his sister-in-law. He doesn’t blame or dislike Danneel.

Is there a problem with his brother dating an executive of their closest rival? Why should there be? On the subject of Nana’s, friendly rivalry is good, they both have excellent products, and the city should be proud of the business they create. It should be their aim to promote quality local products and squash competition from out of state and overseas.

There are rumors that he fights with his brother. What can he say about the bruising on his face? A fight with a chair. The chair won. Of course there is sibling rivalry, they are normal brothers.

He’s answering smoothly, totally relaxed in front of the mob, and he’s unaware of the impression he is making.  There are small untruths, but he hasn’t time for an elaborate hoax or lie. There’s gut instinct and genuine feeling. When a right wing reporter for a business paper suggests that the announcement will create a slump in profits because people don’t want to buy gay products, he fixes him with a stare and asks how many biscuits the man has eaten. Alona slides a notebook to her boss. She’s been keeping count for certain journalists, as requested by Jared.

“They are tasty. You’ve had two biscuits and some cake. Do you feel any different? You must tell us if they turn you gay.” Jared holds up an empty plate, “I’m actually thrilled that y’all enjoyed the treats because they are Padalecki products, and they were made last night, in my kitchen. By me.” He pauses and gives a gleeful and evil chuckle and adds, “in drag.”

A few of the journalists cease writing and glance to the podium. They have a look of doubt, “You’re quite the comedian,” remarks the questioner.

“Well. I’m telling the truth about baking them. As for the rest,” he shrugs, “you guys have hounded me, it’s only right I get to play with you. You’ll have to decide how much I’m teasing you.” Alona is fit to be tied, doubled over in silent laughter. “Padalecki Inc. is in superb shape. Our products speak for themselves. We are market leaders and ethical suppliers. Our shareholders and investors are intelligent, broad minded businessmen. They don’t bend to gossip and outside pressure.” He wants to cross his fingers and toes at this part. It’s mostly wishful thinking and bluff.

“So can we say that you are out and proud?” It is the slight lady from the Pink Blaze, an LGBT publication.

Hell, he’s already jumped in feet first and is out of his depth, what are another few fathoms? “I would like for young people to know that sexual orientation doesn’t prevent business success. I am hoping to get us more actively involved in campaigns like ‘It Gets Better’ and there are some early plans to team up with Nana’s with a joint product that benefits city wide organizations including the Rainbow Alliance and anti-bullying causes." So what if the plans are too early for Nana's to have heard about them? Jared resolves to arrange a meeting with Danneel as soon as the press conference is over.  With all he knows from Jeff he has enough leverage to make it happen. 

“How do you stand on the issue of gay marriage?”

“Everyone deserves the chance to make a formal commitment to the person they love, irrespective of race, religion or sexual orientation. I would like to see a society that treats everybody equally.”

There’s the loud buzz of chatter and boisterous questions being shouted. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the news of his brother’s arrest reaches the piranhas in the room. He looks to Alona who nods an all clear. “This has been interesting, but I really must wrap it up. I have business to attend to. If you would like information of a commercial nature, please do not hesitate to contact our press office.”

Security is already moving in to clear the room, thank goodness for an efficient P.A. There are a few shouts of thanks which he thinks is a hopeful sign.

The lady for the Pink Blaze hangs back and taps his arm as he passes to exit, “If I call your office will you give us an interview at a later date? It would be good to have an inspirational piece.”

Jared blinks and stops walking. He’s been called a lot of things but inspirational has to be a first. He feels guilty because he knows the purpose of this exercise was no more than a smoke screen. He would still be at the back of the closet if it weren’t for circumstances.

“I don’t think I meet the criteria,” he says.

She frowns and looks sincere, “Of course you do. You’re rich and successful, you have a badass reputation. Everything you said in there, you’re not afraid to be yourself and do what you think is right.”

Except he doesn’t do what is right because somewhere in the city Jen is in God knows what condition and he is the cause of it. He hasn’t even thought to ensure the man’s dog is safe. He has put Padalecki before Jensen’s welfare and isn’t that the story of Jen’s entire, ill-fated life? “I have my issues.” Jared wants to slap his head for the comment, because journalist.

The room is virtually empty, but she leans to speak quietly to him, “We all do, but I’ve seen your type before. When you find the right man you’ll be head over heels and it won’t matter who he is or what anyone thinks because you’ll do whatever it takes. That is one of the best examples you can be. FYI, when it happens I want an exclusive of your wedding.” She slips her card to him and leaves.

Jared isn’t listening to anyone as he makes his way to his office. Alona makes sure the door is shut behind them and blocks all calls. Kim and Misha are dealing with the practical fall-out of Jeff’s arrest and it seems that a legal team is already in place. He’s silent and listless, pacing back and forth, picking up items from his desk and putting them back down on Alona’s workspace. He reaches for the binoculars that have become a normal part of his surroundings and rattles the blinds to gain a better view. Jensen isn’t in the gardens or anywhere in sight.

Alona tuts her annoyance at his distractions and frowns at him, “Go. Get out of here! You know Kim and I have everything covered. We’ll make sure all department heads give a morale boosting talk to their staff. We’ll give out No Comments, I’ll clear your schedule and delegate. You’re no good to us like this.” Alona is giving him a stern school marm glare and proffering his jacket. “I’ll order a cab to get you to the police station.”

“Thanks.” With his act over, he’s pale, his features are drawn tight. “Actually,” he falters and then nods to himself, “Yeah, order the cab. Get it to pull into our basement parking bays, then go back out with someone in it. Find somebody tall with dark hair. There’s got to be someone in the building that can pass for me at a glance. It will throw the hounds off my scent for a few minutes. Get me a company car, something small and anonymous. A van, anything.”

“What’s the point? They’ll make you the moment you get to the precinct.”

Jared is unconsciously turning his cell in his hand, round and round, “Let Jeff stew a while, making a fuss won’t help. I’m not going there.”  There’s an expression on his face that dares her to ask the question but she knows better than to do that.

“Yes, Mr. Padalecki.”

There’s too much frigid air and not enough to breathe. The sun is weak but high in the sky and it’s not the right time to be at Jared’s home, but he finds himself there, nonetheless. Lorretta is shouting at Jensen, she’s wielding a broom and threatening to call the cops. He wants to explain but he doesn’t know what to say, couldn’t say it anyway. He puts his hand down for the comfort of touching Sadie’s head. His fingers move through empty space, and he’s approaching melt down because he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time and he’s lost Sadie. He has to think but his mind is hot and cold, cotton wool with a pounding hammer. He’s covered in the scent of Jared but that doesn’t mean Jared wants him. He remembers what he did. It was _dirty, bad, wrong,_  inappropriate and yet sweet like cinnamon. It’s terrible and yet so good he feels like he could fly. He’s a jet leaving silver white trails in an azure sky but he’s feeble and his limbs don’t want to move. He’s sure it shouldn’t be so. In the movies there’s so much more before partners sleep, content in each others’ arms. He can’t comprehend how good that would feel. He wonders if Jared would try. They could help each other feel like rockets cutting through the blackest outer space, faster than light. He’s sure that Jared would like it.

There’s a woman’s screech and the banging of a broom on black-top and he remembers to move. Time to go, but he’s not sure where. He can’t think straight and he needs sleep. There’s a risk in going back to his squat during the day but the comfort of the saggy old armchair draws him back there. Sadie’s a good dog and Chad will see to her. Jensen will collect her after a nap. A short sleep will stop his reality from spinning colors into blurred lines and jumbled maths. He’ll take the medicine that Jared gave him and his throat might stop its scraping, fiery agony, his lungs may calm and ease. It’s a plan and his fevered exhaustion is all consuming.

Jensen fumbles the key and collapses over the threshold of the basement apartment. He’s shivering so hard he thinks his teeth may break. It’s alright though, Josh is here and it’s warm in his light. Grandma Padalecki paints ochre flowers and marshmallow sunsets just for him and his ma sings. He closes his eyes and the colors change and pursue him into the coal-dark corners where flickering flames of fiery scarlet and vermilion surround him and his brother shouts through the crackle and ash. Jared’s hazel eyes burn into him through the chaos and Jensen’s reaching out, chasing him through a narrow path that’s closing in on him. He wants this to end but he won’t give up until he catches up with Jared. He needs him to understand.

Sadie licks at Jared’s fingers. She’s walking obediently to heel like she’s known him all her life. He stops to kneel and she lets him hug into her fur and inhale her doggy wet smell. It shouldn’t be comforting to him but it is. It’s a connection to Jen,  a promise to find him.

Chad had been astonished by the businessman’s sudden arrival and had treated his desire to find the vagrant with clear mistrust. It had taken a mixture of cajoling and threats to get him to release Sadie into his care, along with all the details Chad had gathered about the man’s routine.

They’ve searched the train station and the bus station and the librarian has asked Jared to pass on her best wishes when he finds Jensen. Now he’s outside the Market Street shelter and the man in charge, Christian, is giving him a cold stare with deep blue eyes. Jared thinks the man might punch him and he’s no idea what he’s done to deserve it.

“You’re Jared Padalecki. You were on the local news.” It is a statement not a question.

Jared blushes and nods. “Caught me, I guess.” He extends a hand to shake and it is ignored.

“What do you want?”

“I need to find Jen. He left his dog at the sports center.”

“He would never leave Sadie. Tell me why I shouldn’t call the cops on your ass.”

“He’s sick.”

“Why would you be interested? What is it you want from him?” The questions are laced with suspicion and the guy’s eyes are narrowing.

“I’m worried about him.”

“Tell me another.”

Jared hasn’t time for this. Sadie is whining and there’s despair driving him. All his anger has gone and a deep seated instinct tells him that he has to find Jensen soon. “He’s an old school friend and I care, okay? I care …” he pauses, “… a lot. He needs help.”

“Seems to me, Jen’s been needin’ help for a while. He has a list of friends and you’re not on it.”

There are tears of frustration gathering in the corner of the hazel eyes, “Because I’m an asshole, because he doesn’t know he can ask and I would be there. Because I didn’t know it until now.”

Christian is angry. He heard what the cops had to say about the Padaleckis, and he’s been warned of the danger to Jen, but Chris is also trained to read people’s body language and Jared’s panic seems real enough. There’s the memory of Jensen asking for Jared, saying he trusted the man, and he’s aware that life rarely follows a neat path. He sighs, “He’s not here and I haven’t seen him since last night. He doesn’t stay here because he has Sadie. I think he has somewhere local but he hasn’t told me. Do you want me to hold on to Sadie? I can call the animal shelter.”

“No! Jesus, no! He’ll need her,” Jared scowls at the man and the blue eyes soften a fraction.

“Well. I have food to prepare. Jen knows where we are if he needs us.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“For what?” Christian turns on his heel. The question is laced with sarcasm.

“For being there. For Jen, for them,” Jared indicates a group of tramps drinking tea and playing dominoes in the day room. He’s shocked at the revelation that he genuinely cares.

Jared drives in circles, stopping under arches and looking down alleyways. Every so often somebody squints at him, as if they may recognize him. He stoops his shoulders and lets his hair cover his face. Nobody expects the executive to be searching dead end doorways and rundown buildings and it’s enough to keep unwarranted attention at bay.

He’s cold, tired and hungry. Worry is gnawing a painful hole in his stomach and pulling a tight band around his head. He doesn’t know what to do and he doesn’t understand why it has become so important to him.  Misha has been calling to leave frantic messages, asking where he is and he has no words to explain so he ignores him and stuffs his cell further into his pocket. Sadie wraps her warmth reassuringly against his leg and he tangles his fingers in her fur. “We’re gonna find him girl. We’re gonna make this right.” He repeats it like a mantra and offers a silent prayer.

As if in answer, Jared’s cell vibrates with a different ringtone and he grabs at it, almost dropping it in his haste, “Jim. You got my message.”

There’s a short discussion and his relief is tangible. The call is followed by a text with GPS coordinates, which he programs into the car’s sat nav.  He pushes Sadie into the passenger seat and prays for real, offering bargains and promises to a God he doesn’t believe in, to any that will listen.

The block that Jim has directed Jared to is old and unkempt. There are water stains marking the masonry and the woodwork is rotting. Several of the apartments are abandoned and in disrepair, but the door to the basement apartment would be solid enough, if it weren’t for the fact that it is standing ajar. There’s the musty smell of mold and urine and a sharper fragrance of household detergent making an ineffectual attempt to mask the more fetid scents.

Jared pauses momentarily. This is madness, some sort of obsession and it is far from safe. He has no permission to be in this home and no clue what lies behind the door. It is in a high crime district and he is alone. It’s the first time he’s ever thought that carrying a gun might be a good idea. He hasn’t got a gun; he doesn’t even carry a mace spray. Why would he? He never ventures outside his privileged, safe, life.

 He’s thankful for the quiet leather soles of his designer boots as he treads softly over the doorstep. The still cold of an empty house surrounds him, and he lets relief flood over him. Entering a stranger’s home for no good reason would be hard to explain. It’s a hollow victory, Sadie strains at her leash, and he lets go as he notices a figure sprawled, barely conscious, on the floor.

There’s a tall man kneeling over Jensen with a scarf and a syringe and Jared wants to burst with gratitude because somebody has already called a doctor. The feeling doesn’t last because Sadie is growling with menace and there’s guilty surprise on the stranger’s face. He’s looking to the door and window and sizing up his chances with Jared. There’s a strong, sweet smell of opiate and Jared is struggling to understand because he’s sure that Jensen doesn’t take drugs. Jensen’s eyelids flicker open and, in the time it takes for Jared to smile at him, the stranger is barrelling into him with a left hook and a hefty punch to his stomach. Jared goes to the ground with a loud “hmph”.

The world spins; there are bright lights and an explosion of blood from his nose. Sadie is barking frantically and snarling and then there’s a high pitched whine and she becomes silent. Jared struggles to get up, he’s on all fours, taking his weight on his hands and shaking his head to focus. The stranger has Jensen pinned to the floor with his knees and he’s tying a tourniquet. Jensen is pale, wet with sweat and fear, he’s got one hand free but his efforts to hit out at his attacker are disjointed and easily evaded. There’s a whimper that changes to an airless wheeze and Jared can see that Jen is crying and shaking his head, silently pleading with the man who has successfully cut off the blood supply in his thigh. One hand aims a gleam of deadly metal at Jared and there’s a flash of plastic with a fine jagged needle in the other.

“It’s a pathetic life. See it as a favor. Why would you even want to live? It’s not a bad way to go.” It’s a chilling reassurance from a killer.

Hired killer, thinks Jared. There’s a part of his heart that runs cold because he knows why this stranger is here and who is paying him. Jared had been asked if he wanted to take this action and he had considered it as a viable option before dismissing the notion. 

“I’m Jared Padalecki, you don’t want to do this,” he spits through a bloody lip.

An ice cold stare turns on him and there’s an unpleasant sneer, “And I’m the fuckin’ queen, Sugar. Wait your turn.”  He sees the underside of the boot as it crushes into his cheek and he yelps at its impact but there’s quick movement from Jensen, who reaches his free hand to grab at the ankle before it returns to the floor. Jared reaches to add a shove to the unbalanced assassin, and the man tumbles through the air with one hand open to soften the impact of his fall. The syringe makes an arc through the room and lands close to Jensen. The stranger’s knife is forced through his own palm and he screams as it slices deep into his fingers with crimson ooze. Jared is frozen with fear, he knows he only has moments before the killer rallies and turns on them both, but his hands seem glued to the floorboards and his feet are lead.

There’s sudden movement from Jensen. He’s glassy eyed and rasping but he’s holding the syringe like a dagger. As the stranger turns to take revenge on the crawling executive, Jensen raises his arm and plunges the syringe down into his neck with startling speed and accuracy. The stranger has a sudden ‘O’ on his lips and wide, frantic eyes but Jared doesn’t think that any mercy will be rewarded. There is feeling returning to Jared's limbs and he uses the shock of the moment to make a grab for the killer’s knife. He holds it out in front of himself as he shuffles to be by Jensen’s side. Eyelids shut over green eyes; Jensen is shaking and he's fast fading into unconsciousness. Jared uses the knife to cut through the tourniquet but he’s watching the deadly stranger for any sign of a renewed attack. He strokes his hands through Jensen’s sweat-dampened hair, still watching, when the killer’s breathing slows and he slumps with eyes fixed and staring. 

Jared sits on the bloody wooden floor of an empty apartment with two dying men, an unconscious dog and the evidence of a heroin overdose, while his brother faces murder charges in the local jail. He may never get the opportunity to tell Jensen he cares for him. Every worry he has ever had about Padalecki Inc. or his own fortune suddenly seems trivial. He leans his face to Jensen’s. There’s a shallow breath that rattles from lungs drowning in fluid. He places a kiss to the burning, pale lips and stirs himself from his shocked stupor. He has to act swiftly.  
  
  


 


	14. Chapter 14

Is he going to be okay?”

The nurse places a comforting hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Stop fidgeting or the stitches won’t be neat. Your friend is in good hands.”  Her breath is minty as she leans in to suture the cut on his face. “We’ve started an IV for antibiotics, and he’s in the right place.

“He doesn’t like to be touched, and he can hear but he doesn’t speak. He needs to be looking at you when you speak or he loses focus. Don’t cover his hands because he signs. Can somebody interpret? Do they all know that?”

The nurse growls at him, “Everyone knows. You’ve been clucking over him ever since you were brought in and now it’s time to fix you up.” There’s a snip and the metallic clunk of scissors being placed on the trolley. Cold alcohol swipes over his cut. “I saw your picture on the news. You’ve had one hell of a day. Did it not occur to you that you shouldn’t drive when you are distracted and stressed? You should have called for an ambulance for your friend. It’s what they are for. Does your car look bad?”

Jared winces as another suture is applied. He’s not seen what the small company vehicle looks like, but while they were being raced to hospital by a woman on Jim’s payroll she had described the place where it would be towed from, and the damage it will have sustained.

“It’s totalled, but the lamp post is only slightly bent.” Jared remembers his lines and hopes there aren’t too many questions. He’s been told not to think about the corpse left behind in the basement apartment. By the time Jim is finished there won’t be any trace that the failed assassin met either Jensen or Jared.

“You know he looks pretty bad at the moment with all those tubes and the oxygen mask, but we rarely lose patients to pneumonia these days. There are cuts and bruises and a bump on his head but he came out of the accident less damaged than you. There’s no guarantee, but you need to think positive.”  The last suture is in and there’s a spray of antiseptic over Jared’s wound. “Can I ask a personal question?”

Jared frowns and nods assent.

“You said in your interview that you aren’t in a relationship, but I see a lot of folks come through the ER and I think I’m good at judging people. You and Jensen?” She looks awkward as she tidies the trolley, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m not usually a gossip.”

“No. It’s okay. I don’t know what it is. I never said I didn’t want to be in a relationship. Maybe there’s something, but I don’t think he’d want me.”

“Sweetie, you’re a catch. Now, go be with your man. You walk slow and look where you’re going. I’ll sort out a prescription for some painkillers and bring it to you.”

Jensen looks tiny in the stark white bed, with tubes that pump drugs in and drain infected fluid out. He’s surrounded by wheeled machines that beep and hum and there’s a regular hiss and shoosh as the ventilator forces air into stiff lungs. From everything that’s been said, it is amazing that Jen remained standing earlier in the day. _He’s tough_ , thinks Jared. It’s a reassuring thought. He pulls up a chair and reaches for his hand. He takes it carefully, making sure he doesn’t disturb any wires or tubes. 

There are freckles on Jensen’s fingers, standing stark over the blue-white skin. He rubs at them and counts. When he was seven, their teacher had asked them to draw a picture of their art partner, and Jared had tried to count all the freckles on Jensen’s body so he could make it accurate. He had tickled Jensen and made him bang his hands and laugh raucously. They’d been told off and sent to stand in the corridor until they could behave. He wants to see Jensen laugh again.

Jensen’s eyelids are closed, long lashes look dark against ivory skin and the ventilating tube is taped in place, ugly between his lips.

  

The doctor has come into the room and is standing by the bed with a clip board in her hand. “We’ve given him a sedative, so he won’t wake for some time. His body needs to rest and we don’t want him to struggle against the oxygen tube.” She glances at the notes, “I see you have given your name as next of kin and your own address, but we cannot find any medical records or history for your friend. It is highly irregular.”

Jared doesn’t bother to face her. He’s been expecting something of the sort. “It’s also highly irregular to find somebody willing to fund a new CT scanner for the department. If you value my promise you’ll find a way to keep your questions limited and your mouth shut. The same applies to all your staff.”

The doctor opens her mouth as if to speak and then closes it again and pauses before speaking, “There is every indication that Jensen has been living on the street. Can you at least tell us if he has been in contact with any molds or fungi, or if he has a history of lung problems, HIV, anything?”

Jared feels the need to explain.  “I didn’t kidnap him, and I won’t make him stay against his will. I used to go to school with him. We were friends and I should have helped him before now. I don’t know anything so you should run all the tests. You have the authority to charge everything to me. Whatever you need, just do it.”

“And the security officer outside this room? How long will he be here?” She looks angry.

Jared knows it is an inconvenience to subject the hospital workers to scrutiny, but he isn’t willing to drop his guard. “There will be somebody here 24/7. The press are on my back, I don’t need Jensen mixed up in all that.” The executive knows the media is the least of his problems, but it’s a good enough excuse.

He looks wrecked. Old bruises merge into the angry red of new contusions and the jagged cut left by the killer’s boot (aka his steering wheel) is blackening and vivid. His nose is purpling and swollen. He’s bent to one side because his bruised ribs have more bruises over the top and there’s tight-hot pain every time he moves. The doctor’s expression softens, “Jensen won’t be awake for some time. You should use the opportunity to get some rest. Go home. We’ll call when there’s progress. He _is_ going to wake up, Mr. Padalecki.”

Jared reluctantly leaves Jensen in their care but he can’t rest yet.

Misha is furious at him for his press debacle and for disappearing all day, Kim is in despair, even Lacey is angry with him. Jeff has been in custody for the entire day and Jared has done nothing to help. His brother is eligible for bail but he needs a hefty deposit and a guarantor. In the strange circumstances their father left them in, only Jared is in a position to provide it. Misha’s anger dissipates when he sees his friend. “What happened to you?”

“I went for a drive to clear my head, wrapped the car around a post. It is a company car so that’s another thing to get pissed about.” Jared raises a hand to shush Misha before he replies, “It’s been towed for repair. Nobody else hurt. Don’t nag. I had enough of that at the hospital.” He wants to tell Misha about Jen but there’s a kernel of doubt that keeps him from giving the true story. Misha sometimes has a hard time keeping his mouth shut around Jeff.

Alona is the only one who expresses real concern, “You should go home. Jeff will survive a night in jail. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve some payback for what he did to you.”

“No. It’s something I need to do.”

The cell door thuds behind Jared and the lock turns. Jeff is sitting on the edge of the rigid bench, perched as if he’s frightened to touch anything in this unclean space. He probably is. He looks behind Jared in confusion. “What are you doing in here?”

“I told them that if you were going to make bail, I needed to speak to you first. I want to be sure you won’t run. Detective Pearson thought it was a good idea, and I told your lawyer I wouldn’t come up with the cash until I’d spoken with you.”

“You know I didn’t do this Jay. You know me.”

Jared crosses his arms and leans against the wall for support. “I thought I did but I’ve come to find out there’s a lot I never knew.”

Jeff’s face crumples, “I’m sorry, okay. I’m an asshole. I wasn’t going to use the picture. I promise I wasn’t,” Jeff is whining, “but then you gave Danneel and I to the press, just threw me to the hounds and upset Lacey and my kids. I saw red. I had your picture, and it was a petty reaction. What you did this morning, for me. I can’t believe it. I know I wouldn’t have done it for you, and it makes me a jerk. I’m sorry, okay. I promise I had nothing to do with Linden. I was determined to let this run its course, to have a fair fight for the business. There was no reason for me to do it. I’m sorry.” Jeff drops his eyes and slumps a bit more. “They have all sorts of evidence though and I haven’t even got an alibi. It’s as if the person who did this knows me, knew what I’d be doing.”

Jared bites at his lip and even then he speaks with more malice than he intends. “It wasn’t Jensen. He didn’t have anything to do with any of it, so call your dogs off or I swear I will leave you here to rot, and pull our legal team out. I will do it. I have no good will left for you.” He cannot explain why he is suddenly sure Jensen is not the cause of their troubles, but he is nevertheless certain of it.

Jeff sits up straight and squints at his brother. He looks utterly lost. “Do you mean Jen? What dogs?”

Jared grabs Jeff by his collar and jerks him. His bruised ribs tighten with white hot agony. He ends up wheezing and lets him go. He whispers in a deep rasp, directly into Jeff’s ear, “Don’t test me, Jeff. _Jensen Ackles_ , we both remember him. I met your hired man. It didn’t end well for him, and I’m out of patience. I fucking hurt. All over. Again.” Jared steps back and leans one hand on the wall for support, the other clutches at his chest.

“Why? I mean, I know Jen couldn’t have stolen my car from the lot. I had him tailed and he’s harmless enough, if a little obsessed. We probably deserve it. Our family treated him like shit. That’s all. I called off my investigator. There shouldn’t be anyone following him any more.” Jeff is confused, and if he’s not genuine, he’s faking it brilliantly. Jeff has never been that good a liar with Jared.

“Then why did someone try to kill him today? Why did that someone try to kill me?”

Jeff’s eyes widen and his mouth gapes. He looks directly at his brother for the first time since he entered the cell and he’s staring at the wounds on his face. “Shit! Jay. Look at you. I can’t believe I’m so selfish I didn’t notice,” He pauses thinking, and there’s panic in his voice when he speaks again, “Oh God! Do you think it’s the same person, I mean after you, after him? Do you think Jen saw anything? What do the cops think?”

He leans in close again, enough that his mouth is touching Jeff’s ear, to speak softly, “They don’t know. I had a car crash and that is all they will find out. Don’t fuck with me Jeff. I have Jim Beaver, remember? They weren’t after me. I wasn’t supposed to be there. Either you agree to call your contract off or I am out of that door and you can wait out your trial behind bars.”

He turns away and walks the few paces to the door, “What are you going to do Jeff?”

“I can’t call anybody off anyone. It’s not me. I haven’t done _anything_ Jared,” he’s whining again, “Except the photo with Matt. I admit that. You never change your security codes and it was too easy. I took it from your safe months ago because I didn’t want you to show anybody, and now I’ve done what I never wanted anyone to do to you. I’m sorry. I said I was sorry. Please don’t leave me here. I know I deserve it, but I don’t belong here.” There’s desperation in his brother’s voice.

Something isn’t right. The confrontation isn’t going how Jared envisaged; there are none of Jeff’s usual guilty traits. He needs to be sure so he pushes the envelope, “I know about Becks too, Jeff.”

Jeff lifts his arms in question and shakes his head, “We both know about Becks, bro. There’s nothing different there. When will you stop blaming yourself and get over it?”

“I know what you did.”

“We all did it. It was a prank. A goddamn joke, Jared. It wasn’t intentional.”

“Taped vents and a real fire are pretty fucking intentional Jeff.” Jared has to know the truth. He can’t bite his tongue any longer. He has to hope there is no way for anyone to overhear them. The lawyer trusts this space to be private, so it should be.

Jeff is looking at him in horror, “The vents were open. I saw them. Are you saying I did something? There was no tape over the vents Jared, why would you say that?” His brother catches his breath and his brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t tape the vents, did you? I didn’t ask you to.”

“No, dumbass. I didn’t. Get yourself together, we’re going home.” Jared fights through the whirling confusion of his mind to concentrate on the tasks he has to complete.

“Home?”

“My house. You can’t stay in a hotel. It’s a condition of your bail.”

“I can stay with Danneel.”

“She doesn’t need the publicity. Do you see her with me?”

Jeff looks dejected, and Jared takes pity.

“Cheer up she trusts us to look after you. It would be stupid for her to risk her job. She sends her love.”

When they get home Jeff turns on the evening news. The Padalecki brothers are in the headlines for all the wrong reasons, and a known mobster has been found dead from a heroin overdose. There is speculation about turf wars. Jared snatches the remote and turns the TV off.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on with you and your crazy stalker? You’ve got Jim Beaver dredging over ancient history and it’s not going to make either one of you feel better,” Jeff is pressing the issue.

“They’re not connected. Not really.” Jared is muddled and it’s hard to explain. It is difficult to separate his original motives from his current, overwhelming, emotions. “I thought there might be a link to the Linden fire. Jen’s not crazy. I like him. I always did. Isn’t that enough? Can you at least respect that?”

“What about _stalker_ do you not understand little brother? Misha used to say that Ackles would ruin you, I assumed he meant Josh, not his strange little brother.”

“Can we not do this now?” Jared is too tired to fight about it.

“You do know that nobody sealed any vents or did anything else to that store room at Becks, don’t you? If Jim told you that, he has to be misled about it. Cindy might have refused me but I didn’t care about it. She wasn’t exactly the dating type. Christ! She blew Misha in the toilets and then refused to speak to him for three weeks. I wasn’t upset; I just thought she could do with singed hair to humble her a little. We didn’t kill anyone Jared. You have to believe that.” Jeff seems genuinely concerned and he’s using the reassuring ‘big brother’ voice that soothed Jared so many times when they were young.

The painkillers are kicking in, and Jared wants to go to bed. He yawns, “Yeah. I guess.” He’s too tired for conversation and he can’t be bothered to be polite; Jeff can find his own way to the guest room. As he slips under the bedcovers Jared looks to the window. It feels lonely knowing that Jen isn’t in shadows, watching him.

Jared leaves a short note for Jeff when he creeps out of the house at 5:00 a.m. to get into a cab.

Jensen is pale and motionless. There are ink marks and untidy scribbles on a chart attached to a clipboard, but Jared doesn’t understand them. He’s holding it when a nurse bustles into the room.

“Goodness. I didn’t expect to find anyone here.” She’s far too chirpy for the time of the morning. “You must be Jared. Oh, my dear, you should be resting.”

“I slept for a while. I had to know how Jensen is. He offers the clipboard to her, “I don’t understand what it all means.”

“Well, his blood tests have been returned shockingly fast.” She arches a brow at Jared, “Never seen blood work done so quickly, money must really talk. He is clear of any complicating factors, there’s no blood infection or HIV. He’s responding well to antibiotics, so we should be able to remove his breathing assistance soon. The sedation was allowed to wear off briefly overnight, but Jensen panicked and tried to tear out his breathing tube and IV. It has been decided to keep him in a medically induced coma for now.”

“I should have been here.”

She pats him on his arm. “I’m not sure it would have helped, but I can make a note to ensure you are here when they reduce the sedatives again.”

“Thanks.” He breathes out.

She pulls over a comfortable armchair, “If you’re going to stay you should sit. Talk to him. He may be able to hear you.”

Jared tells Jensen that he has spoken to the vet. Sadie is recovering and is missing him. The veterinary nurse is awesome and is spoiling her with treats and chewy bones. He talks about the color of the sunrise and the art that he once hung in his own small gallery. He puts his face close and speaks about the kisses they shared; he reassures Jensen that he wanted the passion they shared in the showers. It was amazing, and Jensen shouldn’t be scared or worried about it. There’s a flicker of movement under Jensen’s eyelids, and Jared wonders what he’s dreaming about.

He rubs his hands through his hair and yawns again. Everything has stopped making sense, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing here or what he’s going to do next. “What am I doing Jen? What am I to you? I wish I knew what you want from me.” He thinks there’s the faintest flicker of movement in Jensen’s hand and he takes hold of it and rubs his thumb over the palm. “I want to get to know you, if you’ll let me.”

Chad arrives at ten and Jared smiles for the first time since everything went to hell. He had contacted Chad, Sophia and Christian, but he didn’t know if any of them would come. He explains the importance of security and is grateful that Chad doesn’t ask awkward questions. The ebullient blond just tells him to get a coffee because he’s got Jen for now.

Jared leans to one side as he sits, supporting his bandaged ribs with one hand, with a mug of coffee in the other. Jensen’s rucksack is on the floor, mocking him. It contains everything that is important enough for Jensen to keep with him. Jared unties the bed roll from the top, unclips the buckle and loosens the braid. The smooth black leather of Jen’s journal peeks from a thin roll of clothes. He touches it reverently with the pads of his fingers and strokes the worn surface then takes it from the bag and places it on the coffee table in the otherwise empty visitor kitchen. He taps his fingers on it and leaves it there.

The sketch paper and pastels that he gave to the tramp dominate the internal space of the bag. He retrieves the art pad and turns it in his hands but refrains from opening the cover. An artist reveals more of himself in his art than even a journal. There are remnants of the medicine that Alona purchased. What is left in the main compartment of the bag is sparse. There’s a multi purpose penknife, pouches of dog food, a comb, toothbrush and paste, soap and a nailbrush in a plastic wrap. In zipped compartments, Jared finds two keys. One is shiny and anonymous. The other bears the tag of a bus station locker. There is a leather wallet, of softest deerskin, inside that, his identity card and $30 in cash, a surprisingly large sum for a vagrant. There’s a silver ring too. Jared realizes, with a sickening jolt, that it is the one that Josh Ackles used to wear on his little finger. He repacks the rucksack but the journal and the sketchpad remain on the table. He grabs at the sketchpad and stuffs it hurriedly back into the dark fabric confines, determined not to pry. He allows himself a brief smile, considering the extent that Jensen has spied on Jared.     

It leaves just the journal. He sips at his milky-sweet brew, eyes hardly leaving the leather casing. He eventually snatches it up and unclicks the pop fastener. Pages drop open. It’s an old fashioned filofax and the first thing that strikes him is the difference in condition of certain pages. Some are aged, well thumbed and yellowing. Others are bright new, white paper. The white pages are dated, in order and meticulously document Jen’s day with small line sketches, random numbers and lists. He closes his eyes and avoids reading them properly, despite the sketches that indicate that he features heavily in the detail. There are only a few weeks of the diary and Jared wonders what Jen does with the earlier days. He supposes he must dispose of them, or they are in the bus station locker. His eye catches on the last entry and he can’t stop himself from reading it. It draws him like a moth to a flame.

1/Make a statement to the police

2/Get therapy to remember how to talk

3/Find a home

4/Learn to be normal

 It is a simple list and he thinks it might break his heart. He doesn’t want Jensen to be normal, he’s extraordinary and that’s okay. Jared admonishes himself for being distracted, the list isn’t what he’s looking for _, that_ will be in the old pages.

He finds Jen’s list of friends and he traces his hand over it, there’s a tear in his eye when he notes that Christian was right about Jared not being included. He flicks to the pages at the start and finds the standard information page. It has been altered and there are angry lines through some of the original data but he can see the first date, _Christmas 2001, love from Ma_. There are phone numbers scribbled and crossed out. Jared scowls at the list. It looks like a dead end. There are two plastic pouches clipped in before the contacts list and he can’t resist reaching fingers inside to retrieve the contents. The first one contains a sparse set of newspaper clippings. A short headline article, a clipping about the record compensation pay out, and magazine photograph of Jeff, Jared and Misha attending the witness hearings, a smartly dressed and arrogant trinity.

The second pouch is far more personal and he should put it back as soon as he observes the content but he’s drawn with fascination to study the dog-eared photographs. Jensen and Josh pose for the camera in kindergarten. Jensen clearly doesn’t want to be there. Jensen, Josh and their Ma sit under the shade of a tree on a sunny day. Josh on his graduation day. Jared’s breath catches as he turns the last two over, there’s a poorly focused photograph of Josh with Jared in a diner, laughing at something together, and then there’s a snap of Jensen as a teenager. It’s an utterly unexpected image. Jensen is caught up in the snug embrace of Grandma Padalecki. He’s actually smiling into the camera and is obviously showing off a piece of his own art. He holds a portrait of Jared’s Grandma, painted in mellow colors with clever light and reflection. Jared remembers the soft safety and talc smell of his grandmother’s arms and he knows the portrait. He had admired it on his Grandma’s wall and she had left it to him in her will. It hangs over the desk in Jared’s study.

There’s a distant memory of an awkward Jensen being pushed into the after school art class by his mother one day, when everyone had virtually forgotten he existed. There was a fuss about it being an _after-school_ club and as such home-schooled children weren’t allowed to attend. Jared was twelve by then, and he was sure that school had nothing to do with Jensen being excluded. Lauren had never been pushed out and she attended a different, catholic school. Jensen had set up his easel next to him, and Jared thought it more likely that it was Jensen’s painting of two men in a loving embrace which prompted the art tutor’s outrage. Jared had run to his grandmother’s for tea and made an indignant speech about equal rights and the unfairness of it all. His Grandma had tutted and agreed with him. He had stuffed his face with her cakes and tuned out her lecture of well known opinions that art should be available to everyone, regardless of money or class.

He wonders how many important details of every day life he missed, safe in his selfish bubble, when he was growing up. He’s delaying the inevitable though. He picks up his cell phone and dials. The first number is unavailable so he tries another. His heart lurches when someone picks up, a female voice with a familiar Texan accent, “Hello.”

“Hello. Is this Donna Ackles?”

“Who is this?”

“I’m a friend of Jensen, your son.”

“I have no son,” the voice is vague and unnatural.

“This is Donna Ackles?”

“Yes, but I have no son. He died. Goodbye.”

Jared’s eyes cloud over, “Wait! Mrs. Ackles. Jensen is ill, in hospital. At least speak to me.”

“I told you. I have no son,” there’s a click and a steady dial tone. When he redials there is no answer. It’s the first time that Jared is glad that Jensen is sedated. He replaces everything in the journal, in careful order. He won’t tell Jen that he spoke to his Ma.

Jared gets lost in memories of the past; trying to recall every last moment of contact he had with Jensen over his childhood. It is several strong coffees later that he halts his reverie to consider the conversations that he had with Jeff the night before. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and calls his brother.

There’s barely an introduction and he doesn’t tell Jeff where he is. “What did you mean last night when you said _Misha always said Ackles would ruin you but I assumed he meant Josh_?”

There’s silence, then a weak, “I thought you knew.”

“I swear I will rescind your bail if you don’t tell me Jeff.”

“It was nothing.”

“Would you like to be someone’s prison bitch? Just tell me.”

There’s another silence and then a loud sigh, “You didn’t really think that Becks was about Cindy and Josh did you?”

 


	15. Chapter 15

It is quiet here and safe. There are endless soft clouds and good memories. Distant friendly voices and reassurance drift in on the haze. Sometimes it is Josh or Ma but more and more he hears unknown low voices and then Jared’s mellow Texan drawl and it’s not tiring or distracting, simply warm and secure. He doesn’t want to leave but there’s the sharp smell of antiseptic cutting jagged rips into the cloud and a shrill staccato beep peppers holes in the haze. There’s a heavy mask restricting his nose and mouth, blowing alien air into him against his will and he wants to tear at it but he can feel the warm curl of fingers holding his hands down and someone is stroking his brow. He arches his back in an attempt to escape the uncalled for touches and he hears the beeping noise increase.

“Hey, Jen, listen. You coming back to us? Hang in there buddy, stop struggling. It’s just you, me and the doctor. It’s just Jared.”

He stills. The words are clear and the light behind his eyelids is different. He wonders if he can open his eyes, and what he will find there. He has a memory of Sadie, collapsed and quiet, of Jared on the floor with a flow of bright crimson blood and of a sharp needle held in his hand. There was wicked intent. He doesn’t want to see it, whether heaven or hell because that would make it final and he thought he was going to change. Make a difference and find his way. Life never works out the way you want it to. Why should death? 

Another thought interrupts; Jared! Jared is here with him? It’s a notion that knocks the rest of his worries aside and he forces his lashes open. His eyes are sticky, unwilling but he continues. In candy floss dreams there had been another Jared. A gentle presence who spoke about Sadie and the color of sunlight. He had felt warm lips brush his skin and heard his whispers of intimacy. Is it too much to ask that Jared can be here, solid, and substantial?

The warm hand holding his squeezes fractionally. “Doing good, Jen. You’re going to see the doctor; she’s the gorgeous lady with the silly light to shine in your eyes. There’s a white ceiling and lots of wires and lights and machines but you mustn’t panic. Can you stay calm?”

Jensen wants to answer but his hands are softly contained. He wonders if his voice works here. He opens his mouth and a coughing ha-hum happens but there’s air forcing past his teeth and tongue, rushing to fill his lungs, taking the sound with it down a raw and painful throat.

“It’s okay. I gotcha. I gotcha Jen. No need to worry.”

Jared is right. The ceiling that meets his blurry gaze is like a double hit of Pantone White. It almost stings in its intensity. His head moves fractionally to the side and there’s a woman in a coat almost as bright. She has soft green eyes and long brunette hair and is looking down at him with a smile. He wants to scoot away from her but there’s tubes on his mask and in the back of his hand and he doesn’t know what will happen if he moves away.

“Hello, Jensen. It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Dr. Staite. You’ve been asleep for three days. We thought it was time for you to wake up. You have pneumonia but you are recovering well. We had to intubate you for a time, so your throat will be a little sore. We’ve removed the air tube and you’ll do fine as long as we keep this oxygen mask on.” She’s getting gradually closer but she isn’t crowding him. His reality is starting to come into focus and he can recognize a hospital room from all the medical dramas that his mother would watch on TV. “I need you to listen to me. Can you nod if you understand me?”

Jensen flexes his neck and it co-operates. He nods.

“Good. When I let your hand go you mustn’t hit out or pull at anything around or on you. That could harm you or me. Understand?” She’s speaking, calmly and clearly, with authority, like a teacher or his Ma. He can do as she asks.

“Good.”

One hand is released but there are circles being rubbed on the other, Jensen turns his head that way. The mask rubs at his face but it doesn’t hurt. There are hazel eyes, sparkling and multi tinted and a familiar wide, red ( _813_ ), mouth, parted to show white teeth. Deep dimples cut into defined cheeks and he can see Jared’s moles, count them more easily than his own freckles. There are bruises and a stitched cut on the businessman’s face but it is beautiful in its live animation because it is Jared, and he is alive, and he is right here, holding his hand and smiling. 

Jensen’s eyes are wet and there’s a trickle of salt water running to his neck. He’s not sure if he’s crying but the signs meet the definition. He lets it happen and Jared lifts soft tissue to dab at the wet trail.

“I gotcha.” The hazel eyes are lowered, “I, er, don’t have to be here if you don’t want but I stayed. I can go if it upsets you.”

Jensen feels his hand being released and he grabs quickly at Jared’s fingers and pulls them back. It’s all he can do to ask him to stay. There’s a matching tear that trickles from Jared’s left eye and is wiped away with a fresh tissue.

Four days later Jared has barely left the hospital. He is pretending to work from home with occasional short trips to his office, to meet with Misha and Jeff. For now, he’s curled cosily into the side of a huge armchair that has been brought into Jensen’s private room and he’s tapping at numbers on the keyboard. His face is lined with concentration and the tip of his tongue sticks out from between his teeth.

 Jensen is propped up on firm pillows, he’s no longer got a mask over his face but it’s there, clipped to a silent oxygen supply, in case he needs it. He has a puzzle book and pen but his deep green eyes are no longer looking at the page. He studies every nuance of the man he learned so well as a child. The desire to paint the brunette never leaves him. Jared is the most perfect subject Jensen has ever known. His colors are vibrant, in hues that add up to good even numbers with Jensen’s subdued shades.

Jared is counting in his head, even as he lets the computer generate his complex answers and it fascinates Jensen. All his life he has been unable to know other people. He’s been told that they have emotions and feelings like the ones that boil and race inside his own mind, but he cannot imagine them. His Ma once compared it to dyslexia, when all the letters are there but you still can’t read the text. With people, all the indicators are present, movements and pupil dilation, pulse speed and skin color. He has been taught to be observant for these things and there’s a formula he can apply that gets him part way to knowing a person’s mood, but it is tiring and still doesn’t give him the socially correct reaction. With Jared it has never been like that. All his life Jared has been his dyslexic’s audio book. It’s not perfect, there are words he doesn’t understand, but Jared is so much easier than every other book on the shelf. He loves to watch him, but touching, well touching is so very much better and for him that is something else that is unique to Jared.

Jensen gives a low hum in his throat and Jared looks up at him. “You okay. Do you need something?”

Jensen crooks a finger and beckons him over, giving a lopsided grin.

“Ask me,” taunts Jared. Jared hasn’t discussed the list in Jensen’s journal but they have had long conversations on handwritten notes. Jared has gradually drawn out some of Jensen’s innermost longings and he’s determined not to let Jensen forget some of his ambitions.

“Tuhcuh. Cuh.”

Jared stands up and slips his laptop onto the chair, “Good enough for me.”

“Nuh” Jensen points to the laptop and beckons again.

“You want to see?”

Jensen nods, he’s tiring of the game and Jared lets it go. The tall businessman flicks his hair from his face as he sits on the edge of the bed by him. Jensen thinks this will be easier if they can look at it together so he pats the bed by his side and scoots over.

“You want me next to you?”

“mhm”

Jared scrambles up the bed to lie next to him. He’s strong and solid, warm and a little sweaty. Jensen inhales him, throws an arm round his shoulder and pulls him close, to rest his head in the crook of Jensen’s arm. Jared doesn’t object, just relaxes into the embrace and exhales slowly.

Jensen reads through the text of Jared’s document and then squints at the numbers. He makes use of the hospital’s wifi and his fingers speed over the keyboard as he applies geography, population and an assortment of factors and statistics.  He doesn’t need to look at the distribution network or factories. He’s been doing these projections for Padalecki products for years based on estimates, previous sales and public knowledge. He always reviews his results and generally he isn’t far from the final totals. He’s every bit as familiar with Nana’s operation and he thinks the final prediction is realistic, if a little adventurous. He hands the laptop back to Jared who is looking at him in open-mouthed admiration. “How did you do that?” He asks.

Jensen shrugs, grabs the computer back and types at the bottom of his page, * _it’s easy*_.

“You think Padalecki should try to do this?”

_ *Yes. You can hook Danneel through Jeff ;) Besides it showcases Nana’s new product for them, at a fraction of the usual marketing cost.* _

The cursor blinks and then fingers move again, * _rainbow cakes with rainbow frosting, who can argue with that? Now I’m hungry.*_

It’s an easy banter that has been developing ever since Jensen came out of his coma and it feels natural.

Jared chuckles. “Dude I am not baking cakes for you. You can flash your pretty eyelashes at Christian, Katie or Sophia for them. I’d leave Chad out of it if you want to get out of this hospital.”

The cursor flashes again and Jensen knows he’s staring at Jared’s mouth. He types with deliberation, * _KISS ME*_ , and then closes the lid and moves the laptop to the bedside table. There’s a look of surprise on Jared’s face, his lips are slightly parted and Jensen angles his head down to capture them with his own. Jensen kisses with force; he likes the press of it, the slide and suck and the taste of Jared’s tongue as he pushes into his mouth. Jared doesn’t pull away or jump from the bed so Jensen deepens the kiss and puts a hand around Jared’s neck and tangles his hands through the silky hair that curls softly under. This tastes every bit as good as the kiss in Jared’s house and the kiss in the shower and Jensen finally thinks he understands a fraction of the emotions that ordinary couples might share. This is addicting but he needs to breathe. He stops to take a throaty breath and then dives back in for another while Jared looks mildly surprised.

Jensen traces his hand over Jared’s shoulder, pushes the brunette flat to the bed and then loops a leg over Jared’s and rolls halfway on top of him without unlatching his lips. His cock is hardening in his soft pajama trousers and he can feel the growing bulge in Jared’s trousers. He chases the friction between them and gasps. Their lips part and Jared is pushing at his shoulders. Pushing him away.

“Woah, Jen. Stop!”

He continues for a moment. He can feel Jared’s eager erection and he doesn’t understand the rejection.

“Jensen, c’mon, no.”

Jared has untangled himself from Jensen and is scrambling from the bed. This is _bad wrong._ Jensen has done something to Jared that you don’t do to friends, and Jared must be disgusted. Jensen grabs the hospital linen in his hands and flings it off, his feet are over the edge of the bed, and he’s poised to run. Long arms wrap around him from behind, he wants to hit out, and he’s coughing with the exertion and panic.

“Hold on. Stop right there, Jensen. Look at me.”

Jensen is still too weak to object. Jared removes one arm and reaches for the oxygen mask. “Take a breath and calm down because you’ve got nothing to run from.” Jared moves to his side, “Can I kiss you? Just a little one?” He asks.

Jensen stays still and Jared takes it as his cue to move in and land a series of tiny butterfly kisses to Jensen’s nose, cheek and neck. Every one is surprising in its own way. Jensen isn’t sure he is comfortable with these uninitiated touches but they don’t hurt and they tickle pleasantly.

Jared speaks soft but deliberately firmly, “I love it when you kiss me Jensen. What we started just now, I want it,” Jared gives an involuntary groan, “I really want it, believe me, Jen but we’re in a hospital which is a very public place and you are supposed to be recovering. I have to restrain myself, and I’m sorry if it’s tough on you. It’s like taking medicine or having these tubes and wires, it’s not nice but it’s necessary.”

Jensen feels bewildered and small. He tunes Jared out and sits statue-like. It is a jolt from the past, a throw-back to the moments that Josh scolded him or highlighted inappropriate behaviour. It’s a demonstration that his Ma was right, that he can never be good in the eyes of God.

He feels strong arms manipulating him and soft covers being pulled over his chest. He struggles against the confinement of the oxygen mask but then settles and leaves it there. He can see all of the room from his position. There is a full fruit bowl and splashes of color in curtains and on furniture. The floor is tiled in a blue, white and black symmetrical pattern. He studies each shade, assesses the quality of light from the lamps and natural sunlight and mentally assigns a Pantone number to every color in the room. Everything else fades away. Somewhere, in another reality Jared is still speaking but it isn’t clear.

After a while Jensen senses that he is alone, and he’s good with that. He would like to have Sadie by his side, but the quiet emptiness of alone is relaxing, a taste of freedom.

Doctor Singh lowers his glasses on his nose. “Mr. Padalecki, you have to understand that while you are paying me, I am not one of your lackeys. Your money will not influence me. You are paying me to act in the best interest of Jensen Ackles and I will do that. If I do not think it is in Jensen’s best interest to take your offer of bed and board, then I will encourage him to refuse the offer. How will you cope with that? Had you thought about it?”

“I’m told you are the best in your field.  I am going to respect your expertise, but I will expect practical advice on the alternatives and I do not accept that a place in a mental health institution is appropriate.”

Dr. Singh leans back in his chair. “You’re correct. It isn’t.” The medical man steeples his fingers, “We would have to find other avenues. You say that there are friends and you think he may have independent financial means. Perhaps he could consider a sheltered accommodation or assisted housing space.”

Jared nods. “Can I get information on that?”

“Of course. How do you think Jensen will react to me? He may not like the idea of you assigning him a shrink. If your friend does not want my help then I will not force it on him. He has to choose to work with me.”

“I know that there’s things he wants to change, and he’s ready to get help for that.”

“Mr. Padalecki, I’ve seen his notes. I don’t assign labels to anybody, but Jensen’s behavior loosely fits into the Asperger’s spectrum of disorders. We can help him modify his lifestyle, so he copes more easily with stress and social interaction but there isn’t a cure for him. He will never be normal by most of society’s standards. The world is a damning place, and he isn’t going to meet all its criteria. This is something he has to learn to make the best of and if you choose to stay by his side you will have to support that. There is a niche for him. He only has to find it.”

“He’s extraordinary. I don’t want that to change, I just want him to achieve his goals. I want him to be happy.” Jared anxiously flicks his hair.

“You asked about speech therapy, and I have somebody who I think will work well with him but I’d like to know why you think we can succeed. Jensen has been silent since he was brought into this hospital.”

“No, he’s already making noises. He used to speak. Years ago when we were in kindergarten he would speak properly. I’m not sure why he stopped or how long ago but I know he can do it and I’m sure he wants to.”

The doctor nods sagely, “Some children go through a phase of elective mutism. It is possible it was never dealt with. After a lengthy silence it can be frightening to try again and easy to forget how words are formed. We can explore it.”

“Good. That’s good.” Jared is threading his fingers together in a distracting movement.

Dr. Singh looks to Jared’s hands and looks to his face again, “There are some things I need to know about your relationship before I commit to this. Are you in an intimate relationship with Jensen?”

Jared stops his movement and has to think. He doesn’t know what it is he has with Jensen. “I, I don’t know.”

“Let me put it simply. Have you had sexual relations with Jensen?”

Jared falters again, “Well not exactly, we did um, we kissed and there are things we did but not sex, sex.”

“Do you want to have sexual intercourse with Jensen? Don’t be shy, I’m a therapist.”

“Yes,” Jared blushes, “but not just sex, the whole shebang, a relationship, as much as he’s able.”

 “Mmhm.” Dr. Singh takes his glasses off and huffs on them. “You are adults. There is nothing wrong with you both wanting a full relationship and no reason to think it would be a bad thing for Jensen. How do you imagine it will work? Who will steer? Does he know how to say no? Just as important, does he understand when you say no? Are your motives purely ones of attraction or are you drawn to his neediness? What will happen if he no longer needs your charity or wants your attention? What if it is you looking for his attention and he cannot give it?” He polishes each lens with a soft cloth and waits for Jared to think about it.

Jared shrugs, his decision is already made, the rest he is determined to work out with Jensen, “The attraction is real. I am sure of it. There won’t be a problem.”

“On the contrary, I can guarantee there will be difficulties. Even the best matched partners will struggle to cope with issues arising from this type of disorder and your disparate backgrounds. I like to be an optimist, but I am a realist too Mr. Padalecki, and as you kindly pointed out, I am an expert. I will take Jensen on, but only on the condition that you see a colleague of mine. You will be expected to participate in some joint sessions.” He holds out a card to Jared.

“I don’t need therapy.” There’s a flash of anger rising in him.

“Of course not. There is no need for it but there would be benefit in it for Jensen, and you have asked me to act in his best interest.”

Jared visibly deflates. “Oh. Yeah. Do I call? Do you?”

“I will refer you. I will ensure that you are given priority. The therapist will call you to book the first appointment.”

Jared routinely checks the security outside Jensen’s room and then pokes his head in. Jensen’s eyes are closed and his breathing is steady. The blue tinge has left his skin and there is a hint of pink in his cheeks. He listens but there is only a trace of crackle in his breath. If Jensen continues to make good progress he is expected to be discharged in two days time and that will bring a whole new set of difficulties to overcome. Not least of which is Jeff who is currently in his guest bedroom oblivious to Jared’s activities and intentions. Jared walks softly to collect his belongings and leaves a note on Jensen’s nightstand. Sophia and Chad are coming in to see their friend later and he is gradually learning that Jensen sometimes needs time alone.

He takes a cab to his next meeting and he’s nervous. Jim Beaver greets him, the whiskered man is dressed smartly and even his shoes are shined.  “You still want to do this, Boy?”

Jared fills his lungs and holds it before blowing out loudly. “Yes.  Let’s go.”

Jim tips his chauffeur’s cap and climbs in the driver’s seat of the long black car.

Jeff is late out of his office but the limousine idles and Jared waits patiently, behind the blackened windows. Jeff slides into his seat without a glance and Jim takes off before the door is fully closed. Jared reaches over his brother’s lap to grab at the handle to slam it shut.

Jeff’s expression cycles from one of terror at the thought of being kidnapped, through to confusion when he notes that it is his brother seated beside him.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving your ass from jail; we need to talk.”

“We live in the same house Jared.”

“I need you to take me seriously. We’re taking a tour.” The car pulls up outside the charred remains of the Linden factory. “People died here Jeff. There’s a funny thing about events like this, they force you to investigate motive. Now, the police have been looking at our industrial dispute, whereas I took a look at our accounts. Money is a strong motivator. The odd thing is, while there were no irregularities at Linden, I did find an open back door to our accounts in general. That is always gonna be suspicious, so I got myself a metaphorical shovel and I started digging. Tell me a story Jeff. Make it good.”

By midnight they are in an abandoned warehouse and Jeff is pale and trembling. He’s tried to run twice but Jim’s men have taken him down. There are copies of photographs and statements from the original Becks report that their father had buried. There are accounts ledgers and copies of signed transactions, spread over the screen of two laptops. Jim is talking them through the process of money laundering.

“Why?” Jared is bone-tired and sick to the core.

Jeff shakes his head, there’s still fear in his eyes but Jared can see his resistance crumbling. “I can’t.”

“You signed off transactions that weren’t real; you had to know what you were doing. When did it all start with Misha? This isn’t you Jeff. This isn’t the sort of thing you would willingly get mixed up in.”

“You know when.”

“Becks?”

“Not entirely. I mean yes. It’s what he’s got on me but the Collins business has always had this side to it. You have to have been a complete innocent not to have noticed the way that the Collins family work, their meteoric rise and the heavy handed tactics.” Jeff flicks his eyes to Jim. “You’re not shy of using the same methods Jared. Misha isn’t evil; he just doesn’t know any other way of doing business. He doesn’t have an out.”

Jim stiffens and leans heavily toward Jeff with dangerous intent in his eyes, “I ain’t some second rate gangster, boy. I am an independent professional, a whole different proposition. I’d say it’s best you never compare me that way again.”

Jared puts an arm out to push Jim back and speaks, “You let him bring his dirty tactics to our business. You said he would protect me and my interests.”

“He offered to come and we needed him. He kept you on track and motivated. Without him, you would have given up and let Padalecki slide. Two years is a long time in business and you could have taken us down entirely. I don’t want you to win but I do want the business to stay afloat.  I didn’t look too closely. If I wasn’t noticing irregularities they couldn’t be too significant. All he’s ever wanted to do is keep you safe. His family adore you. You’re their golden boy. You’re more his little brother than mine. Why do you think he encouraged you to go to college and stay out of the Collins’ business?”

“He’s done enough to put us all in jail, Jeff, and he’s killed. You are going to do time for the Linden fire and I am certain it wasn’t you.”

“He hasn’t killed anyone. He wouldn’t do that.” Jeff is shouting at his younger brother in denial.

“Jeff. Grow up. I am absolutely sure he had a part in Linden, and you can’t ignore all of that.” Jared points to the Becks data in frustration.

“There was no gain in burning down Linden. It can’t have been him, he wouldn’t do that to me and he wouldn’t hurt you, he thinks the fucking world of you,” Jeff protested.

“Too late! I’ve been hurting for years. I thought I’d killed my friend. Don’t you get that? Josh was my friend.” Jared is shouting, inches from Jeff’s face. He doesn’t even notice the tears tracking down his own face.

“No!” Jeff doesn’t want to hear it. “We don’t mix with trailer trash.” He’s shaking his head in disbelief, “Misha said, you were making a fool of yourself, I didn’t want to believe him but he had photos of you with Josh, in his gang. You had your arm around him for god’s sake! It’s why Misha set you up, why it had to be your CD player, so that Josh would never trust you again.”

Jared’s voice rose again, yelling back at his brother, “You still think that Josh was supposed to come out of that alive? The CD player, the bullshit about Cindy, it was so we were both implicated. You said it yourself the other night, it was about me and Josh and you two would have done anything to prevent me from hanging out with him. Josh was never meant to survive. Our involvement let Misha off the hook, gave him our father’s support and has had you in his hands ever since. You may not have covered the vents but there is only one other person who had access to my CD player. Only you could have doctored the plug. You are good with electronics, always have been.”

“I didn’t want to kill him but I didn’t want the plan to fail. He couldn’t think you were being genuinely kind. How could you be one of his silly little fanboys? Josh bullied you.”

There’s a cold despair and disgust in Jared’s voice as he retaliates, “You bullied me Jeff. Josh hadn’t touched me since kindergarten. He had a better heart than either of you. ”

Jeff is tensing for a fight and two of Jim’s men pull him back. “Cool off!” Jim’s voice cuts through the thick atmosphere. “This isn’t going anywhere. Jared, go take a walk. Jeff you stay. I have some evidence from Becks and Linden that you should see.”

There’s a muted atmosphere when Jeff and Jared finally return home at 2 a.m. Jeff collapses on the sofa and flips the TV on.

“You should sleep.” Jared suggests in a fake helpful tone.

“Don’t baby me.” Jeff grates in reply. “Do I even have a bed any more?”

“Of course you do. Don’t get snarky.”

“I thought you needed a place for your darling little retard.”

“There’s some furnishings ordered for the studio. There are a few rugs, some curtains and a bed for him. It will do fine for now. His name is Jensen and if you value your freedom you will treat him with respect or keep the fuck out of our way.”

“You know, our Pa, Misha, everyone was wrong about you. They all saw a vulnerable, pansy-boy but you’re one ruthless bastard. You surprised everyone. You don’t even need Misha. What will you do with Padalecki Inc. when I’m in prison or dead? Break it up and sell it in pieces? Turn it into a bleeding hearts home for crazy people?”

“You’re not going to prison, Jeff. We’ll get through this and whatever happens to Padalecki Inc. isn’t important as long as we keep the workers’ jobs. I never wanted it, you can have it. I have Grandma’s inheritance, this house and enough contacts in the art world to get by. What I can’t do without, are the people I love.”

“Wow.” Jeff leans back against the soft cushions and Jared can sense his close scrutiny. “Does that include Ackles?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out and you are going to let me.”

“I thought Misha was your soul-brother. Are you really going to sell him out?”

“We can’t rescue him from the place he’s in. All we can do is pull ourselves out and hope he finds his own way.”

“It’s a death sentence. You want to live with that?”

“If he isn’t guilty then it won’t come to that, and I’m willing to let him walk away for a few fiscal offences. I’m not letting him take you or Jensen from me.”

It’s seven in the morning when Jared wakes Jeff and tosses a cell phone at him. Jeff scowls and tries to give it back. “Get on with it, Jeff.”

 It’s on speaker and Jared hears the ring tone and then Misha’s cheery reply. “Good morning campers. Where is the emergency?”

Jared glares at Jeff and Jeff addresses Misha, “It’s in Nevada, Misha. Damn figures won’t add up for the auditors whatever they do and we don’t need them looking too closely. If I free up your time and square something with Jared will you go down there?”

There’s a long silence and Jared’s heart sinks, getting Misha away from Head Office is a pivotal part of the plan. “There better not be shitty accommodation and business class travel.”

Jared holds up one finger.

“No, all first class and five star. They made the mistakes. They’ll have to cover your expenses.”

“Cool beans. Meet you at the office for the details?”

Jared creeps into Jensen’s hospital room and watches him. He can see that he is in a better mood and there’s a peaceful glow to his face as he sketches the vase of flowers that stands in a pool of sunlight, by the window.

“Hey.” Jared speaks but Jensen is absorbed in his task. Jared walks to the end of the bed and waves. Jensen startles and then slowly lowers his paper to the bed. “It’s okay, don’t mind me, just wanted to say good morning.”

Jensen waves back and there’s a discernible upturn to his lips. He grabs at a notepad and pen. * _You’re late_ ,* he scrawls hastily.

“Am I too late for a kiss?” 

_*Just a kiss?*_ writes Jensen, he looks very serious.

“Your kisses should never be described as just a kiss, maybe I should say only a kiss for now.”

_*I have to learn boundaries_ ,* replies Jensen.

Jared sits down next to him and shushes him. “No rules, just relax.” Jensen reaches out his hand and cautiously cups Jared’s chin. He rubs a thumb along the smoothly shaved chin and angles his face before diving in for a kiss that rocks Jared’s world. It is hard and heady, and Jensen leads naturally, like he has every time. Jared loses himself in the rough suck and slide, the clashing teeth and nipped lip. When they pull apart with the soft sound of suction Jensen peppers kisses over Jared’s chin and nuzzles at his neck to bite a substantial purple hickey which he sucks with enthusiasm.

Jared’s heart is pumping fast and all the blood is rushing to his groin, he groans and palms the heel of his hand at his burgeoning erection. “Jesus. Fuck! So good Jen. You’re gonna tempt me too far.”

Jensen backs up and sits very primly with his hands over his lap. Jared grins. At least Jensen can hide his excitement under the covers Jared is going to need to think of maths equations and train crashes. Jensen scoots over and pats the space on the bed and Jared slides into place beside him. They fit together perfectly and Jensen is firm, warm and comfortable by his side.

“Can I look?” Jared points to the sketch pad and Jensen shyly turns the cover. The sketch is not nearly finished but the shape is there and it will be a faithful interpretation of the subject. Jared reaches to smudge and blend a fraction of the pastel. “There, see.”

Jensen copies the action in another part of the picture and they both nod approval.

Jared risks a question, “Your pictures are excellent. I could have sold them when I had my gallery. Who taught you?”

Jensen’s fingers drum on the bedcovers before he hastily writes a few sentences. * _Grandma Padalecki sometimes came to our trailer but Josh wasn’t to tell anyone. She didn’t want your Pa to be upset with her. He was angry with me but your grandma was an angel.*_

“She was. I loved her a lot. She did everything for me after Ma left. I wish I’d known. I could have come with her,” Jared says wistfully.

_ *No, she said it was you who gave her the idea, after an art class, but your Pa would be mad at you if he knew.* _

“I guess she was right and anyway I was a complete dick back then.”

Jensen knocks Jared’s elbow with his arm and grins, * _you weren’t that bad, well maybe a little.*_

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes and then Jensen is scratching in his notebook again, * _Doctor Singh called in to see me.*_

Jared is about to reply but Jensen is continuing to write and Jared doesn’t like to interrupt. * _He was worried that you might take advantage of me.*_

“Oh.” Jared doesn’t know what to say. It’s to be expected.

_*I told him I want to go home with you so I can sleep in your bed, lick you all over and have anal sex with you.*_

Jared’s eyes widen and his mouth forms an ‘0’.

_ *Dr. Singh wants to see me again so we can discuss boundaries and socially appropriate language. He doesn’t want me to take advantage of you.* _

Jared reads the entire thing and he can’t help himself, sore ribs be damned, he lets out a loud guffaw and laughs till there are tears in his eyes. He sobers enough to look Jen in the eye, “You are welcome to sleep in my bed, lick me all over and have anal sex with me. Any time.”  There’s a delicious shiver that travels his spine, and he’s hot in all the right places. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Jensen’s ear and whispers into it, “I can hardly wait for you to fuck me.”

The tips of Jensen’s ears redden and Jared thinks it’s adorable.

The pen moves over paper again. * _Are we dating?*_

Jared wraps his arm loosely around Jensen’s waist, “We probably are. Yes.”

_*I think I’m going to see Dr. Singh a lot. Thanks for sending him.*_

Jensen is attentive and bright and Jared loathes ruining the mood but he knows he cannot lie to him or leave him in the dark about his plans.

“Jen, there are some serious things that I need to say to you, and I don’t want you to agree to come home with me until you hear me out. Does that make sense to you?”

Jensen gives a thumbs-up, which is a positive sign that he is concentrating.

“The man who tried to kill you is dead, but there are others who might want to hurt you. I think it is to do with Padalecki Inc., and because of me.”

Jensen grabs hold of his hand and squeezes, he looks anxious.

Jared continues, “I need your help to stop them. When we go back to my house they will know that you are alive, and it will be dangerous until we end it.”

_*We should tell Detective Pearson_ ,* writes Jensen.

“I can’t. It’s complicated and there are lots of reasons. One of them is that nobody knows we killed that man. You can think about it. Or just say no and we will find you somewhere far away, where you can be safe.”

Jensen shakes his head vehemently, * _you’ll still be in danger, you’re my boyfriend, show me what help you need because I’m coming home with you.*_

Jared opens his mouth to argue and Jensen sticks two fingers on his lips and then kisses the dispute away.  
  


 


	16. Chapter 16

“Holy crap, Jared!”  Jeff is dressed in Armani for an evening with Danneel. He’s swearing as he lifts his suede Berluti shoe from the depths of a large dog bowl while smelly meat and biscuits drop from the hem of his pants and the sole of his shoe. Claws click over the tiled kitchen floor as Sadie arrives to investigate. Her tongue lolls in a happy doggie smile and she’s excited to see this large stranger who smells like Jared and food. Heavy paws land on Jeff’s legs in an affectionate display.

“ **JARED**!”

“WHAT?” his brother yells back from his bedroom.

“There’s a fucking wolf in the kitchen.”

“Oh!” Jared walks in wearing a towel around his waist and is drying his hair with another. “I forgot to say, I picked Sadie up from the vet today.”

Jeff makes an exaggerated show of looking away, “Oh God! I don’t need to see my gay little brother like this.”

“My house! You called for me.”

“You know I don’t like dogs.”

“Aw. She likes you.”

“You aren’t seriously going to cram me, that tramp, this hound and you, in this house together are you?”

“There’s only one of you I’d rather not have here, but there’s a judge who insists you stay. Suck it up!”

Jeff wipes his shoe with tissue while Sadie helpfully licks at the delicious mess. He’s pushing the dog away when Danneel’s bright laugh is heard from the kitchen door.

“Lorretta let me in. Oh! Who is this?” Danneel drops to her knees to pet Sadie, giving Jensen’s dog a big hug in eager arms. “Oh, she’s gorgeous. You never said you were getting a dog. I love dogs.” 

Jared’s brows raise as Jeff enthusiastically strokes Sadies’s head, “She belongs to a friend who is going to be staying with us. Her name is Sadie. She’s lovely isn’t she?”

Danneel kisses Jeff and takes a cotton handkerchief from her pocket, “Let me wipe that from your pants.” She looks at Jared and his brother looks from behind her, giving a smug wiggle of his eyebrows as she speaks, “Alona mentioned that you were getting a house guest. She mailed your proposition to us. It looks interesting. I can meet you at your offices. Is 10:00 a.m. good for you?”

Jared’s surprise is tangible, “Yeah. Yes. Fantastic. Really?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. Nana’s is every bit as interested in making money as Padalecki is.”

“Honey, what ..?” Jeff is inserting himself between his brother and his lover, bemused by their conversation.

Danneel simply grabs Jeff’s tie and pulls him up with it, “C’mon Pumpkin. I don’t want us to be late for dinner.”

“If you promise to take responsibility, you can keep him out as long as you like. He has to be in the office for eight.” Jared winks at the slim redhead, “I’m having friends over. There will probably be beer, potato chips and uncouth behaviour.”

Danneel grins and gives a suggestive lick of her lips, “My pleasure.”

Jeff is gaping at Jared and trying to process the entire concept of Jared having friends, “Misha’s away. I didn’t think you kept up with your art buddies.”

“They are friends of mine and Jensen’s. Lorretta’s made snacks and we’re going to tackle the studio together. All the furniture and stuff was delivered today. We just need some effort and imagination and it will be ready for Jensen.”

“Jensen’s friends? What sort of people will you be bringing in here?”

Jared’s reply is cutting, “The non-criminal type. It will make a change.”

There’s a sharp look from Danneel. She obviously thinks the dig is aimed directly at Jeff. They are on the doorstep when she stares Jared up and down, drags Jeff to the cab and says, “Nice outfit Jared, suits you.”

He turns cherry red when he remembers that he has been having the entire discussion in a state of undress. The cab driver gives a cheeky toot of his horn as he drives away, but Jared manages to catch his brother’s eye and has the last laugh as he mouths “Pumpkin!” at him.

“Nice pad!” is Chad’s reaction to Jared’s artful, architect-designed house.

Christian is typically tactful. He gives Jared a bear hug and says, “Jensen’s gonna love it here.”

Katie and Sophia demand a full tour and Sophia declares that she is never moving off Jared’s huge, squishy sofa. She moves off it fast enough once Chad sits down beside her, thighs touching, and starts to describe various activities it would be comfortable for. Christian takes advantage of the moment and suggests that Sophia help him choose which way to order the differently dyed drapes that Jared has chosen, while Chad fixes the curtain pole.

The drapes take half an hour longer to hang than anticipated, and they’re only completed because Katie comes to the rescue, wielding a drill with suitable bit, and providing the correct screws for the assembly.

There is a bout of bitching from Christian and demands for beer and peanuts while they are struggling to build the IKEA bed. “Why?” Christian wants to know, “Why would you shop at IKEA? I swear there is nothing else in this house from IKEA.”

“Jen says he likes IKEA and he saw the multi-colored drape panels and this wooden bed on their internet site. It’s what he wants.” Jared pouts and Chad comes to the rescue, carrying the required snacks. They settle on the floor together, throw nuts to catch in their mouths and exchange fond stories about Jensen. Sadie drapes herself over Chad’s knees and steals potato chips that have fallen on the floor.

There’s a satisfied glow that washes over Jared as he looks around the room at this motley collection of people, of friends, who barely knew each other a fortnight before. All brought together by the love for one person. For a man who thinks that he doesn’t understand other people or deserve their attention Jensen has an uncanny way of generating love. Jared thinks this is what family and home should feel like, and it’s been a long time since he’s known that. It will be some time before Jen can appreciate a gathering like this, but he will get more comfortable with time and help. Jared wants Jensen to be this content with their friends.

They finish assembling the furniture and Sophia and Katie insist on making the bed and laying down colorful rag rugs while the boys go to play Call of Duty on the PS3.

“Y’know, you’re not that bad, considering the way you do business,” Chad mentions.

“What do you mean, how I do business?”

“Well let’s just say, I never thought I’d be beating your ass at CoD after what you did to my predecessor.”

Christian stops playing and his eyes narrow at the tall man.

“What did I do?” Jared acts innocent.

“Last I heard she opposed your little scheme, and then she was in a wheelchair.”

“True.” Jared comments, taking a swig of his beer.

Christian has stilled and is looking uncomfortable. “I have to check that Katie and Sophia have everything they need.” He leaves his controller on the seat.

Jared doesn’t elaborate. He cocks his head to one side and listens to Christian’s progress, the sound of a door opening, embarrassed giggling and then Christian again, “Oh God! Oh! Sorry. I’m just …” The door slams closed and Christian returns, sliding at speed around the corner with wide eyes and red cheeks.

Jared is choking on his beer with hoots of laughter. “Did you really not see it? I’m guessing it isn’t their first date. Why do you think they were so keen to get us out of there?”

Christian wags his finger at him, “It’s okay for you, you have a built in gaydar.”

Chad  perks up. Their game avatars are suddenly all dead and nobody has noticed. “Are Katie and Sophia … ?”

“Kissing … and stuff. Yes, Chad.”

“Man, what the hell are you doing running away? We should go see.” Christian and Jared leap on Chad to pin him to the sofa and he puts his hands up in defeat, “Joking. Just joking but dude, so wrong, it’s right.”

Christian is obviously still vexed. He’s running his hands through his long hair, his earring sparkles in the lamplight.

Jared takes pity, “That predecessor of yours, Chad. She hated our company scheme but the wheelchair was only temporary. You should look her up, send a fruit basket or sponsor her. I believe she’s running a marathon this year.”

“She recovered?”

“Carrying twins pinched some sort of spinal nerve. She was fine after she gave birth.”

“She was just pregnant?”

Jared quirked his lip, “Being a single mum is no fun. You don’t want everyone to know.” He leans in to growl in the sports manager’s ear, “Being a business man can be tough too, so it’s our secret. There’s no need to dispel any myths about how badass I am.” 

His guests leave just before midnight and Jared falls asleep with Sadie by his side, on Jensen’s new bed.

Jensen is practically bouncing on the hospital bed when Jared calls in to see him early the next morning.

 “Pleased to be coming home?” Jared asks.

Jensen nods and grins before tugging on his hand to have him join him on the bed. Jensen is careful to place a chaste kiss on Jared’s cheek and then pull back.

The nurse who is bustling around Jensen acknowledges Jared, “Dr. Staite will do her rounds after lunch, and if she agrees, then Jensen can pack up and go home after that.”

There are several days financial papers on the nightstand and she is about to place them in the bin when Jensen stops her. “Nuh!” He shakes his head.

Jared is proud of him. The nurse is his regular carer and can sign fluently, but Jensen chose to speak to her.

Jensen is struggling with the TV remote control and the nurse seems to know what the problem is. She laughs and speaks kindly, “Never can work the TIVO can you? Here, let me get this for you before I go. What will you do when you get out of here? You’ll be stuck on the same channel forever. Do you want to show him what you recorded earlier?”

Jensen nods enthusiastically and squeezes Jared’s hand. His eyes are shining and he is almost child-like. Jared wonders what can have him so excited.

The logo of the Business Daily – Early Birds Edition flashes across the screen. It’s not a surprise that Jensen watches it, the green-eyed man watches business and financial news like a hawk. It’s more than that though; he wants to share something with Jared. There’s an intro and general blurb and then the Padalecki Inc. logo flashes across the screen and remains just out of focus behind ‘Wiseman ~ the man with wise tips for tip top investments’, the channel’s sage of the business world.

“What wise words have you got for us today, Wiseman?” prompts Penny, the presenter.

William Wiseman launches into his daily monologue.

“Well Penny, if I mention the name Padalecki to you, the most likely words to cross your mind will be scandal, gay and downturn. The last few weeks have been difficult for the mediocre, medium size, middle-America concern. However, the old adage that no publicity is bad publicity could have been coined for this company. First there was the public confirmation that Jared Padalecki is indeed gay, and very out of the closet. Then there was Jeff Padalecki’s arrest for arson. A raft of traditional investors has been prompted to pull out of Padalecki Inc. However, on the back of that there has also been a flurry of activity by players who think they see something worth gambling on. Some financial experts are insisting that this is a good time to back Padalecki. I decided to take a look and see what the optimists are gambling on, and I have to agree with them. Now is an excellent time to jump into the market of easy bake food with Padalecki Inc.”

Jared sits up straight and peers at the screen, as if it the action will make it clearer. “Oh my God!” he manages, sporting a wide, slightly stupid looking smile, stunned at Wiseman’s statement. Jensen isn't watching the television. He is studying every line of Jared’s face and the way the hazel eyes follow the screen. Jared is too shocked to care that Jensen’s behavior might seem a little creepy.

The presenter takes her cue and asks, “Why would that be, Wiseman?”

“Three years ago Padalecki Inc. was a traditional, family run, medium-return company. They had solid products and an established market. Their factories had seen better days but there was nothing major to worry about. Similarly there was not much excitement. The man who established the company died and since then his two sons, Jeff and Jared, have been running the show. Jared was a dark horse, his brother was expected to take control but the unknown brother ended up in the position. To the ordinary onlooker not much changed, however if we look closely we can see that isn’t true.”

“Padalecki Inc., with Jared at the helm, has spent the last two years dragging all its premises, kicking and screaming into the 21st century. The modernisation has been complete and thorough, if not without dispute, as at Linden. In the sidelines a substantial R and D budget has produced interesting patents for new products, due to roll out soon. My sources tell me they include a bright and exciting launch from the Rainbow Factory.

Despite huge outlay for the refit, Padalecki Inc. is on target to make a modest profit this year. That represents an achievement with such drastic outgoings. Add to that, whatever happens to Jeff Padalecki, Jared remains at the helm. Jared is a bold young man. He’s said by some to be ruthless, but he is turning in the results and he is undoubtedly dynamic, extremely charismatic and, it has to be said, a good looking front man.”

A picture of Jared smiling for the cameras pops onto the screen and Jared buries his head into Jensen’s shoulder and groans. “Oh. God! That picture is ancient. Look at my hair!”

The presenter interrupts Wiseman again, “You know, I have teenage daughters, they have never been as interested in the business news as they were in that article! The day after the press conference when Jared came-out, my kitchen was stuffed full of Padalecki products, and they haven’t stopped baking since. This morning it was pancakes,” she sniggers and lets the man continue.

“The tipping point in recommending Padalecki is their all-American attitude. They support regional suppliers and they have exciting new ideas and unusual alliances, such as teaming up with local rivals, Nana’s. There are many that say their attitude will curb their trade, but their target market isn’t the stay-at-home mothers and bake-sale grandmas. The placard-waving-church-going type was never likely to buy their ready-mixes. No, they are targeting students with just a bowl and a microwave, busy parents and modern young adults. In my opinion they are getting it right. My money is on Padalecki.”

“Well, thank you for your wise words, William Wiseman.”

“You’re welcome, Penny.”

Jensen fumbles with the controls and the screen goes black. “Wow.” Jared breathes and says it again, “Wow.”

Jensen gives a thumbs-up and Jared gives a thumbs-up right back at him. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have seen it until lunch time, and to see it with you is special. I didn’t think it would make you happy to see Padalecki doing well. I thought you would want to see us fail.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and shakes his head in quick denial.

Jared opens his arms to hug Jensen into a tight embrace but notes the look of horror and slight flinch just in time. He drops his arms, “You don’t want a hug, do you?” he says.

Jensen bites his lip and doesn’t move. There’s a curl of black disappointment in Jared’s gut that Jensen doesn’t want his natural affection. He knows it isn’t a personal rejection but he can’t help that it feels like one. Suddenly, Jensen is in motion, throwing pale arms around Jared’s neck, clinging tight, squeezing the brunette and kissing his lips.

When Jensen finally lets him go Jared thinks he’s closer to understanding this beautiful, strange man. “Is it too constricting when I use both arms to hug you?”

Jensen is pretending to stare into the distance. Jared takes both his hands and speaks close to his face, “I don’t mind because if you like to be the one who hugs me, takes me, pins me, Jensen I would love that. We can do that, but I don’t want you to feel you have to. Whatever we do, it has to be comfortable to you. I want to be intimate with you but it isn’t everything. There is a lot more to you than a beautiful body.”

Jared is sure that Jensen is hearing him but choosing not to reply. He speaks again, “Doctor Singh said that this is the sort of thing we have to talk about every day if we want to stay together. I want you. I want us to have a relationship so I want to talk about it.” Jared passes him a notebook and pen, “Is it too difficult when I put my arms tight around you?”

Jensen gives a squeaky noise and sighs. The pen scratches across the paper, _*yes_.*

“How do you feel about you hugging me and touching me?”

_ *I like it. I want to do things to you. It isn’t what they do in the movies. I’m supposed to let you hug me. Do you still want me?* _

Jared reaches slowly to Jensen’s chin, making sure there’s no fear in his reaction, and carefully cups it, raising it so Jensen is looking him in the eyes. There is sadness evident in him that speaks of expected disappointment. Jared knows he has to get his words right, “Of course I still want you. In fact there are ways you can do that which turn me on like nothing else does.” Jared lets his voice lower to a sultry growl, “There are movies about that. When it’s us, in private you can have control. You can touch me how you want to. As little or as much as you like, and you can show me what you want from me.” There’s a thrill that runs through Jared just saying the words.

Some of the sparkle returns to the green of Jensen’s eyes and he nods, * _That sounds hot_ ,* he writes, as he grips his pen so hard his knuckles are whitening.

“Sizzling!” Jared confirms with a smile, and Jensen embraces him again, as if to prove a point. Nothing has ever felt so right to Jared. It feels like home, and he doesn’t need to analyze it.

Padalecki Inc.’s CEO arrives at the office at 9:30 a.m. Jared smiles at the doorman and says “Good Morning, Derek,” and the glass door closes softly behind him.

Alona dashes to ensure that Jared’s coffee is made. He picks the mug out of her outstretched hand and takes a sip.

“This coffee tastes like sh ... actually, do we provide this brand of coffee to every department, Alona?”

“It’s what we pay for. People bring their own.”

“Get someone in the general office to do a poll. Find out what coffee the majority of us would like to drink and change our supplier.”

Alona grins and fist pumps the air, “Yes, Sir.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Jared leans into the open window and talks quietly to the cab driver before thumbing a note from his wallet and giving it to him. The cab drives away and it’s just Jared and Jensen outside the small side exit of the hospital with Jensen’s rucksack resting on the floor and Jensen crouching next to it, head in hands. 

Jensen doesn’t know what to do or what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He can sense Jared looking down at him but he doesn’t raise his head to look. The tall brunette has stopped speaking. He’s tried it all, but Jensen won’t communicate and won’t get in the cab. There was one before this, a different color and model. That one was sent away too. He just CAN’T. He hears a long sigh and the sound of footsteps receding and he knows that Jared has walked away. He’s lost and abandoned. There’s nothing that comes next and that makes it impossible to act. 

He’s not sure how long he is on the ground, next to the things that he owns. There’s the passage of time marked by stranger’s legs walking past, the shine of blue and red lights and distant chatter. He has a peripheral sense that there’s some sort of invisible barrier around him. Nobody approaches him or talks at him. He is in his own reality and he doesn’t want the intrusion.

There are colors and there are numbers but they don’t comfort him. He needs to move but he’s not sure where he is going. He wants to see Sadie but he doesn’t know where she’ll sleep. He needs order. He’s too exhausted to run, frozen until he knows what comes next. He hasn’t the words to explain.

In the end it is his nurse who approaches him. “Jensen, honey, you can’t stay here, you’ll get ill again. Do you want to get sick? Jared doesn’t want you to be sick. Why don’t we go back inside, get something to eat?”

Jensen doesn’t know what to say. There’s a gentle rocking motion that starts in his upper body and spreads.

Jared is out of his mind with worry and close to tears. He didn’t think he was forcing Jensen to come home with him, but here they are. Jensen is freaked out and it’s all because he made assumptions. It’s obvious that Jensen doesn’t want to go with him. The tramp is sitting motionless on the sidewalk, and there is no moving him or communicating with him.

The businessman had run back into the hospital, searched room to room until he found Jensen’s regular nurse. She had rushed to help him but she is having no better luck. Jared watches as she stretches up and meets his eye. He spreads his arms wide in despair, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Nobody said you did, Mr. Padalecki. Stop worrying! Something is bothering him but I’m sure it’s not you. You’ll have to excuse what I’m going to do next; I think Jensen needs some firm encouragement.” She crouches in front of Jensen once more, takes both of his hands and gently squeezes them until she gets a reaction. The green eyes flash with fear and annoyance and Jensen tries to pull away. 

“Mr. Ackles, you are blocking a public highway and that is an offence. We can move inside together or I can call for help and there will be orderlies who will sedate you. I will be obliged to contact Doctor Singh and possibly admit you to a psychiatric ward. Do you want that?”

Jared runs his hands over his face. There’s no answer to her question, but Jensen struggles violently and the nurse loses her grip on his hands. A waiting orderly moves in behind him, to restrict his arms and Jared wishes he didn’t have to see the panicked and pained expression it brings to his friend.

The nurse speaks again, “I know you need to talk about something Jensen. If we let you go, will you speak to me? Anything, a single word. We’ll work it out. We don’t need to give you an injection, do we?”

The nurse nods and the orderly gradually loosens his grip. Jen looks defeated, and it’s heartbreaking for Jared. Jensen had shown such unusual joy only the same morning.

The nurse signs, ‘ _speak_ ’

Jensen shakes his head and it’s a start. Ten minutes later they are in a quiet corner of the cafeteria but Jensen still hasn’t spoken. Jared sits close and has been waiting, silent with him. Jensen is delving into his rucksack. He takes out his familiar leather journal and places it on the table. Jared exchanges a hopeful look with Jensen’s nurse. There’s more searching and Jensen withdraws the shiny anonymous key from its hiding place. He places it on top of his journal. 

“We can wait.” Jared reassures, because at least they are warm here, and Jensen is no longer fearful and panicking.

It seems like an age before long elegant fingers move and Jensen’s nurse translates. ‘There’s no plan. I don’t know what comes next.’

Jared wants to reply quickly, of course there is, Jensen has a bed and a place to sleep. They are taking a cab home. That is what comes next. He holds his tongue until he’s thought about all the possible meanings of the statement. He’s looking at the journal and he remembers lists and schedules. List after list, after list. Days of them. The same routine every day. What was it that Jim said about Jen? You could set a clock by his activity? The tension ebbs from him. There’s a solution to this.

Jared replies, “Shall we make a plan?”

‘I can’t. I don’t know how we fit together.’ Jensen looks perplexed as the nurse gives the message to Jared.

“We should make it together and then it will have you and me and together. Will you show me how? Can you show me one of your plans?” 

Jensen is unclipping his journal and flipping through. ‘It’s not the same. There’s no together’ Then he’s turning the key in his hand, letting it shine and reflect light before rapidly signing once more, ‘I had together plans with Josh and Ma.’

“Can you remember them?” 

Jensen pushes the key at Jared and nods his head before signing again. ‘I can show you. They are somewhere else. We need a plan to get them.’ 

Jared is beginning to get a headache. He doesn’t know how he will have the patience to deal with this every day. It is the first real doubt he has had. Even through Dr. Singh’s consultation he hadn’t let himself imagine daily life, and he’s grateful that Jensen doesn’t seem to pick up on his mood. It doesn’t last for long, warm fingers grab at his hand and hold on and Jared knows enough to understand that it is a big deal for Jensen to reach for him without prompt. Irritation melts away. They can do this.

Even when Jensen was making the plan with him, Jared hadn’t pictured the surreal atmosphere of this. It is an exclusive bank, one that Arab millionaires and the mafia would likely favor, and Jensen walks in to a respectful, personal greeting. 

The vault is surprisingly airy and Jensen doesn’t seem to notice the restrictive security and intimidating cameras. Instead, he twirls with his arms held wide and breathes in the slightly antiseptic, pumped air.

The deposit box is opened easily with a metallic click, and there are stacks of envelopes with handwritten dates. Jared reaches in to touch because the top stack has one with a label that includes the day of the Linden fire. The thick paper crackles as he handles it and his curiosity is burning hot. He can barely contain the desire to open it up and tip out its pages. Jensen doesn’t seem to care; he is hunting through the packets. He takes out a pile and underneath it Jared sees stacks of something else. Stiff notes lie untouched in paper binders, stacked wad on wad, thousands of dollars, hidden away in the steel box. Jen finds what he is looking for. He withdraws a small black purse with two more keys and goes to retrieve the box that holds even more money and every detail of his daily life from ten years ago.

Jared is relieved that there is no notepaper and he can’t sign. He is trying to wrap his brain around the fact that Jensen, with all his theoretical business and accountancy qualifications, with all his obvious brilliance, has kept his Becks compensation payment in boxes. Instead of earning interest he is paying to store it within a cool steel vault. He keeps it with the story of his life, neat, documented and clearly untouched, while he chooses to live on the street. 

As if that weren’t mind blowing enough, Jensen is holding out diary pages, plans and lists and they are every bit as detailed as the ones that Jared has already seen in Jensen’s journal. There’s a sick twist in his guts as he considers that Jensen has done this every day, for years. He has watched Jeff, Jared and Misha and recorded the intricate details of their daily lives. Specifically, he would have noted moments of Misha’s life, where he went, who he met, what he did. Jared’s mind is turning on the possibilities and they are grim. He picks up envelopes with diary pages over the past year and asks if he can take them, to look at later. Jensen adds ancient envelopes of his own choice and they place them neatly into the document wallet provided by the bank. 

It isn’t a lengthy stop. The bank attendant smiles at them and tells them to have a nice day. The cab is still waiting and they climb in. All things considered Jensen is looking remarkably well and is breathing with ease. He sidles awkwardly to Jared’s side of the cab, to share close warmth.

Jared is reminded how the silent man drives a hard bargain, when Jensen’s hand lands heavily on his thigh and starts a slow slide toward the zipper of his suit pants. There’s a playful shine in his eyes. They had worked through their plan for today with Jensen’s nurse interpreting, and despite it being unlikely, Jared could swear that Jensen had revelled in Jared’s discomfort whenever he had signed the words, ‘private time.’ “Ah, ah,” Jared breathes into Jensen’s ear in rebuke, “Not next on the list.”

Jensen pretends not to hear him, but there is obvious enthusiasm as Jared shifts to meet his touch. 

Of course, private time could mean anything from collapsing on the couch and watching TV, to resting in their rooms with a book, or sketching. It was pretty damn obvious that Jensen had meant none of these things and by the time they had finished bargaining _private time_ was high on the list after going to the bank, taking a cab home and feeding Sadie, and well, nothing else. There are no tasks on the list after it, except meds and bedtime, which is of course, a sensible regimen for a convalescent. Then again, a convalescent wouldn’t normally have this particular gleam in their eye as their thumb rubs a circle over the growing shape of Jared’s hardening cock and teases him with the downward tug of his zipper tag. 

“Fuck! Jen.” He growls, but he doesn’t push the hand away. The jacket he is wearing goes a little way to hiding the activity of Jensen’s nimble fingers but Jared is sure that the cabbie is taking more frequent glances into his mirror. Jared’s breath is uneven and he can feel the heat glowing red in his face. It is taking every bit of self control to not cry out or buck up into the hand that is burrowing into his underwear. He has never done anything as wrong or as exciting as this. “Boundaries!” he gasps at Jensen, and bites at his lip as clever fingers tug his length. “We can learn boundaries another day,” he pants, as a finger dips into his slit and rubs pre-come over the head of his cock. 

Jensen’s other hand reaches out to shush Jared's mouth, but the fingers linger there as Jensen studies his lips in fascination. There’s a push and slide as the same fingers dart into his mouth and stroke at his tongue. It’s a peculiar thing to do but it doesn’t stop it from feeling good. Jared closes his lips and sucks down on the fingers and Jensen pulls them away in alarm. He remembers his promise, “Sorry, sorry,” he whispers but Jensen is looking at the wet saliva on the pads of his digits and touching them between his own lips with lewd suction before putting them back on Jared’s and pushing in again. By now Jared is certain that the cabbie cannot be unaware of the activity in his back seat and he can’t find the care to worry about it. The only prayer he offers up is that they don’t crash while in this compromising situation.

There is a thrill that courses through every nerve of his body and trickles of sweat slip down his chest, sticking to the cotton of his shirt.  There’s a wet stain in his pants as Jensen increases the pressure and pace that he’s stripping his cock and Jared knows he can’t hold on. He’s whimpering. Jensen removes his fingers from Jared’s mouth and launches his lips against his mouth, hard, as if to remind him to be quiet. He’s being tongue fucked and the hand around his erection isn’t stopping and then there’s the light caress of fingers lifting his shirt and leaving a wet trail to his nipples. He grinds up into Jensen’s grip one last time as he splashes warm and wet into the fabric of his pants, like an over eager teenager. Jensen sucks his tongue hard, preventing him from babbling or screaming but there’s still a low, satisfied groan that leaves his throat. 

He collapses back into the vinyl seat and Jensen tucks the sticky, softening dick and underwear in, zips Jared's pants, then pats his thigh. Jared comes back to himself to realize that the cabbie is taking a long detour with a dirty grin on his face and Jensen has an obvious hard lump in his jeans which Jared has done nothing to alleviate. He reaches his hand to cup at Jensen’s groin but a hand snatches it and pushes it away before it can settle. Jensen looks fierce and Jared is being forced to remember his promise once more.  

The cab pulls into his drive and Jared is relieved that Lorretta has gone home early and Jeff has promised not to come home until late. He’s aware of the stickiness in his groin, the redness of his lips and his relaxed mood. He doesn’t imagine that there would be much of an introduction, aside from, “Hi. This is Jensen, now get lost."

He pays the driver and tips him well, but the man demands a valet cleaning charge for his back seat and Jared doesn’t have the temerity to argue. The driver waves cordially as he leaves.

Jensen didn’t know it would be like this. The power to reduce this strong, controlled man to a quivering, groaning mess in such a public way is intoxicating. He knows he crossed boundaries, he had only meant to tease. He wanted to see what would happen if he put his hand there. It had started as intellectual curiosity but he had seen the response, the darkening pupils, the pink pinpoints on his cheek and the squirm, then the thickening length of their cocks. It had been there before, at the sports center but then he couldn’t identify any feelings or emotions. That time he had wanted to subdue Jared and somehow it had become complicated.  
  
The ease with which he could read Jared’s desire this time was unique and shocking. He’d wanted more and immediate gratification. It had stirred a response deep in the belly of his being, which had him shaking with his own desire yet there was still no wish to be crushed to another and taken. The thrill was in the silky slick and slide of Jared’s erect flesh, the stretched neck and hot breath and the way this tall man came undone, just by Jensen's touch and kiss. It is an intensity of emotion that is readable and he knows he could become addicted to it.

It’s hard to come down from his high when he emerges from the cab but he’s home and it’s right, comforting, exciting and overwhelming all at once. Once inside Sadie barrels into him, leaning against his knees and nudging at his hand with affection and a rough wet tongue. He kicks off his shabby shoes and drops his rucksack to sit on the floor and hug her close, bury his face into her fur and ruffle at it. He has missed her with an ache which is almost physical. Her tail wags and her whole body moves with it. He thinks she may have missed him too.

Jared looks as though he is expecting some sort of reaction from Jensen but he can’t imagine what it is, so he gets up and moves to get some cold water from the fridge. He walks down the hall with his arms stretched out, feeling the temperature and color of the walls in a way he couldn’t when he was here before, with gloves on. He hums his satisfaction at the texture. It feels right. He should probably feign difficulty finding what he needs, but he’s got a glass of water in no time and Jared follows him into the kitchen without comment. He leans on the counter to drink the cool liquid and only remembers the manners his mother taught him when Jared pushes by to get his own drink. He signs ‘sorry’ but he doesn’t think Jared understands.

Jensen is suddenly exhausted. His legs feel like jelly and his head is spinning. Jared must see the difference in him. The tall man is asking permission to hold on to him and he nods wearily. Jared snakes one arm around his waist and lets him lean in, taking his weight. It’s not pleasant but it’s not scary either. He lets himself be manhandled to the bright studio and collapses onto a wide, low bed with a bouncy, firm mattress and bright, friendly linens. There’s a slight breeze that moves a rainbow of drapes in a blowing arch and they catch at Sadie’s tail as she follows loyally to collapse by his feet. It’s safe, comfortable and love. He lets his eyelids drag over his eyes. 

Jared watches as Jensen loses the battle to keep those remarkable green eyes open. He lifts the comforter and tucks it over the pale, sleeping man and Sadie shifts and presses closer to Jensen. Jared doesn’t know what to feel. He’s carried out one of the most daring and unwise sex acts he has ever known. It was unexpected and incredible and with a man who didn’t appear to reciprocate the feeling. Jensen had an erection but it had faded. There had been no acknowledgement or chance to bask in the afterglow. He knows he can’t climb into bed with Jensen without permission, so this is him, alone, in dirtied pants, with his shirt rumpled and sweaty and his partner fast asleep, content without him. It’s still one of the best things to ever happen to him.

He leaves Jen and Sadie to sleep, takes a hot shower, and changes into jeans and a tee-shirt. He picks up the stack of documents that they collected from the bank, curls himself into the corner of his giant sofa and opens an envelope. He takes Jensen’s readiness to allow him access to the pages as his implicit permission to read them but it still feels like snooping.

The early pages have a mixture of handwriting, Jensen’s tiny, neat script and a looped easy flow that he identifies as Josh’s. There is no reference to personal or general life simply plans and schedules, times and places and a meticulous attention to time for hygiene and cleanliness. These will be the format for schedules that Jensen wants to emulate and integrate into their current life together. Dotted between pages are plastic holders with certificates and marked work. There were on-line courses, a small number of community college classes and some weekend university seminars which Josh had accompanied him to. His rate of learning was astonishing but it is clear there was little else to distract him, aside from chores, the occasional art class with Grandma Padalecki and bible study with the local preacher. 

There is reference to Josh’s research into Jensen’s behavior and the lists and schedules start to reflect the work that Josh was doing with his brother to help him understand it and cope. Jared can’t bring himself to look at the entry for the day of the Becks explosion. He skips pages and finds that the weeks after Josh died are incomplete and randomly scribbled out or splashed with small, round water-stains. The only reference to his Ma is one that catalogs her inability to participate or communicate with others, and the growing stack of empty bottles in their trailer. He sees his own name once or twice but he skims over those paragraphs, unable to read about his part in this tragedy.  

The diary picks up as evidence of on-line law study is inserted. The court case breathed life into Jensen and he returned to using Josh’s methods, lists and schedules, to get through his day. The hate and bitterness is discernible in every stroke of his pen.

There is a special marker inserted two months after the final compensation was awarded, the day of Grandma Padalecki’s funeral. Jared knows the date off by heart. It is a tiny but beautiful painting of ten black roses. The delicate brush strokes and subject are well known to him as his grandmother’s. Behind it lies a stamped envelope in the sick scrawl of Grandma Padalecki’s last days, when she was bedridden and weary. He touches the script reverently, runs the pads of his fingers over it and turns it in his hand, but he doesn’t intrude on what appears to be a deeply private document. He replaces the painting and the envelope and continues. 

There’s a strange arc to the diary after that entry. Jensen’s attitude softens and it becomes about getting through his day and his attempts to get his mother out of her near trance-like state, with little success. There is a very gradual swing to an interest in Padalecki Inc., Jared’s father’s affairs and the state of the business as a whole.

He’s engrossed in reading when his watch alarm sounds and he realizes with a start that he has been like this for hours. Jensen’s meds are overdue and Jeff will be home from whatever club he has been drinking at. He shuffles through to the kitchen and shakes capsules from the medicine jar, draws a fresh jug of water and takes it through to Jensen. 

Jensen stirs at Jared’s touch. Too tired to object, he sits leaning into the solid warmth of Jared’s chest long enough to take his medicine before a quiet snore starts back up. Jared stays sitting behind him, relishing the close contact, trailing gentle fingers through the soft spiked hair and letting his eyes close as he relaxes into it. For a moment it reminds him of the night that he took medicine from Jensen’s hand and Jensen stayed to comfort him.   


 


	18. Chapter 18

It’s past midnight when Jeff crashes in with a grin and a strong stench of alcohol on his breath. Jared wanders from his study where the screen of his laptop is covered with numbers in a spreadsheet. “Ssh, he’s asleep. You don’t have to like Jen being here but don’t be an ass.”

“I am an ass.” Jeff hiccups and sways.

“Oh, Lord. Don’t you dare puke on my carpet bro.” Jared stands and puts his hand on Jeff’s back to guide him to the sofa then gets a strong, sweet coffee, some Tylenol and a glass of water for him.

“I may have been photographed by the Paparazzi, drunk as a sk, sk ….smelly black and …” 

“Well that’s not exactly newsworthy.”  Jared makes a face and Jeff picks up on it immediately.

“WHAT?” Jeff points at Jared.

“Sshh!”

“You were going to say something. I know you! Confess!”

It’s not like Jeff is going to remember any of this in the morning. Jared shrugs, “Jen gave me a hand job. In the cab. If we’re lucky it will only be your picture in the papers tomorrow.”

Jeff has a giggle fit before snorting some coffee up his nose and stopping. “You needed to get that stick out of your ass. I think I may like him after all.” He pauses to think about his comment and they both dissolve in laughter, “Stick up your ass, stick …stop. Ugh, shut me up now, I don’t want to think about anything up your ass, Jare. Something else … accounts, anything.” Jeff’s eyes have a happy glaze and he scarfs down water with his pills.

“I’m working on the figures. The route Misha’s people are taking to put the dirty money in is identified but there’s some suspicious activity in a few of our offshore accounts and I’m not sure what is legit tax avoidance and what isn’t. What we do know for sure is where it is going back out of the system. We’ve found several false suppliers and three employees who don’t actually exist. If we go far enough back we’ll find the patterns. We can separate out the false transactions and we’re beginning to see but I’m not sure I’m going to finish before Misha gets back, not without help.”

Jeff sits up straight and his eyes try to focus, “You’re serious about that crazy plan of yours aren’t you.”

“Deadly serious, Jeff.”

“You think we’re going to find every last cent that isn’t legit, shut the loop, loop thingies …gate, whatever … and give it back, and they’re going to let us?”

“Get real. We’ll be dumping their money into another account but I’m not about to let it near any accounts that can be traced to you, me or Padalecki. It’s not like we can give it back with a ‘thank you but we’d rather not do business with you any more.’ Misha will have the money. It’s up to him what he chooses to do with it.”

“Well, shit! That’s cold! The only conclusion they’re gonna draw is that Misha has scammed them” 

“That is the general idea.”

“I thought Misha was your best friend.”

“He is, and this way he gets a chance to run, but he has to figure it out. That’s why I’m not going to the cops. He wouldn’t last a minute in jail. Besides, I think they have sources on the inside.”

“A cop?” Jeff’s eyes are wide and he seems to be sobering rapidly.

“Yeah. Maybe several.”

“Do you think Mish’ll get pissed and come back for us?”

Jared rubs his thumbs over his brow and tries to stop thinking about the consequences his best friend will face. He’s been so wrapped up in his own guilt that he hadn’t considered Misha taking revenge. “It’s a risk, but whatever we do is dangerous. He’ll be too busy running.”  Jared hopes it’s the truth.

 “Funny. Pa did the right thing for all the wrong reasons. Turns out you were the right choice after all.” Jeff gives a wry chuckle and burps, “Being arrested, being this close to prison, I found somethin’ out. I don’t want to go to jail and I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder all my life, scared there will be a next time in the cells. I wanna be proud of Padalecki, a hundred percent wholesome and American.” There’s a long pause, “What I’m trying to say little bro’,” he puts his hand out dramatically to stop Jared’s interruption, but there is none so he continues, “ ...is, you’re right. Gay rainbows, stupid schemes, the whole nine, you’re right and I’m in with you, all the way. I don’t want to hurt Misha but he made his choice.”

Jared sits back, trying to digest the whole statement. “Thanks, I think,” he finally offers.

“What do you need?” Jeff looks serious.

“Jeff you’re in no state to be plotting.”

“I’m good!”

“I’ll be staying here to figure out the books. You have to cover for me at the office, find Misha’s off shore accounts. Everything has to look normal.”

“I can get someone from finance to help you.”

“No! We don’t know who is on board with Misha and who isn’t. I don’t want Jim hiring too many bodies either. The more who know what we’re doing, the more to talk. I may have someone I can trust.”

“Alona?”

“Jeff, she may be my P.A. but she’s also Misha’s girlfriend and I’m fairly sure she hates me. Definitely not!”

“Then who?”

“Jen,” he says it quietly, “Jen is real good with accounts and he knows our business backwards.”

Jeff blinks his eyes rapidly and peers at his brother, “I am still drunk. The tramp in there …”

“ …has more qualifications than all of us. He put together the Rainbow proposal for Danneel in less than twenty minutes, without me lifting a single finger.”

“She liked that,” Jeff’s face lights up, then he blushes and fidgets in his seat, “I need to say thank you, for being nice to her. You didn’t have to. She told me to stop being a dick to you.” 

“I like her. I haven’t stopped liking Lacey though. Don’t ask me to pick sides.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jeff finishes his coffee and slams the mug back on table. He is about to get up but then sits back and looks at his brother with dark concern. “Jared, I’m going to say this while I’m drunk, because it’s easier. Jen isn’t Josh. You do know that don’t you? That crush you had, it wasn’t Jensen and they look alike, they do. You can’t get Josh back. He’s gone and I’m not sure what I think about the man in your studio, but I don’t want you to use him. He doesn’t deserve that. Not after everything else.”

“I know. I’ve thought about it too. The crush on Josh wasn’t real. I would have run a mile if he’d come on to me. I think it was about the crowd, the freedom and the rebellion. I wanted to be him. Does that make sense? I think I’ve had a real crush on Jensen all my life. I just needed to see it, to see him.”

Jeff sways as he gets off the sofa, “Okay, well, intense chat little brother. I have to actually get up in the morning and act normal, so goodnight.”

As he disappears through the doorway Jared calls after him, “Oh, Jeff, word of warning, if there’s a tie on the door … damn, actually, don’t walk in my room, or the house, or anywhere without knocking, or shouting or something.”

Jeff grins, “I’m in frickin’ student digs all over again. Dude, FYI, I ain’t ever getting in a cab with you either.”

It is the darkest hours of early morning when Jensen wakes. Sadie lifts her head, and whines as she yawns. His bed is comfortable and he’s in a soft, old tee-shirt and sweat pants belonging to Jared. It’s hot. He can feel the waves of warmth from the under floor heating and he’s not used to it. He strips off his clothes to get comfortable and twists and turns in his bed. He can’t get back to sleep. He motions Sadie to stay, pads out of the studio and heads for Jared’s room.

Jared is tangled in his covers, wearing only soft jersey boxers. He’s laid out like a feast and Jensen wants to taste him. There’s something he wants to try and he can’t ask but Jared has promised to let him touch and show him what he wants. He’s not sure where night time fits in to the plan but they’re alone in the dark, in Jared’s bedroom so he’s guessing it counts as private time. Moonlight filters softly through the window and illuminates the golden expanse of skin. Jensen doesn’t move yet. He wants to experience the vision and colors, needs to commit every inch to memory, like a personal snapshot. If what they have doesn’t last, he wants to hold this mental picture forever.

When he’s drank his fill of the image Jensen climbs on the bed. With one knee either side of Jared’s body he crawls up the bed on all fours until his knees straddle Jared’s waist and he’s leaning down to kiss the cute upturn of his nose. There’s the drag of skin on skin, his bare dick trails on Jared’s flesh. There’s a sparkle at the base of his mind which lights a vibrant shimmer from the tip of his hair to the end of his toenails. There is nothing uncomfortable about this touch. It is natural and exciting. He wants more. 

Jared mutters in his sleep then moans and wakes. The stickiness of his eyelashes accentuates the foxy shape of his eyes as they open and blink. Multi–color hazel gazes up at him, too many hues there to count and mesmerizing in beauty. The tall man twists and stretches under Jensen and he can feel every sinew tighten, then relax, can imagine how to sketch the muscles. 

“Hi.” The greeting is soft and welcoming and followed by a wordless mew and another shift of Jared’s body, rubbing unearthly friction against his naked sex. Jensen bends his head to lick at Jared’s nipple and sucks it into his mouth. 

“Mmm.” Jared arches up into him and Jensen pushes him back with a flat palm and a throaty growl before diving back in to suck at the other nipple, enthusiastically spreading saliva between the two. 

Jared cautiously reaches a hand to Jensen’s face and Jensen catches at his wrist before it gets there. He twists it to the side and pins it flat to the bed and Jared is lying motionless, looking up at him with dark, dark eyes, a lick of his lips and a plea, “Yes, God! Yes.”

Jensen captures Jared’s other wrist and repeats the action so he’s straddled over the brunette, leaning down, pinning Jared to the bed, with Jared’s face almost at his lips. There’s the begging again, “Please,” but Jared doesn’t say no, Jensen is sure that he will say no if that is what he means. Jared must be able to sense his dilemma because he grates out more words, trying to twist up to kiss Jensen’s lips, “I’m saying yes.”

Jensen has seen pictures, read words and he thinks that Jared, in this contained, tense and fully hard state, with sweat starting to shine on his skin, may be the visual representation of wanton and perhaps submissive. He wonders what the dictionary definitions are but is distracted by the slick writhing of the body pressed under him. Jared is trying to get purchase to rub his cock against Jensen’s skin.

“I can see you thinking. Don’t think.” Jared encourages. Jensen wonders how Jared can tell and then thinks how ironic that is and a bubbling giggle bursts from him.

Jared smiles too, “Great. I’m funny when I’m supposed to be sexy.”

There’s a whole new noise that Jensen makes, a fierce, possessive rumble and it surprises him, but not as much as the pure want, need and lust that flares in him, that he wants to be able to express but can’t. There’s a whole new tempo to his actions and there’s no room for doubts. He slides Jared’s arms until they are above his head and tugs on them until Jared follows the unspoken command and grips the metal bar of the headboard with both hands. There’s a hitch in Jared’s breath as Jensen trails his fingers down the taut arms, around the pit and back over the shoulder and neck. Jensen lets his fingers map Jared’s body, his firm biceps and long fingers, his neck and his shoulder blades. He dips in to nip experimentally at Jared’s Adam’s apple and he feels Jared’s hips buck up and grind against air. Then he’s licking salty sweat from Jared’s muscular chest, the indent of his hips and the light brown fluff of his treasure trail, leaving shiny wet trails all over his torso. Jared is twisting and turning in his hold of the bar, his head is thrashing side to side and he’s moaning but he hasn’t let go. Jensen has watched hours of porn, seen plenty of images, masturbated to numerous hot scenes but nothing could ever have prepared him for the eroticism of this touch, taste, sound, vision and scent of Jared and the sweetness of what Jared is giving to him.

Jensen yanks Jared’s boxers to his ankles and loops them so the feet are held together and that has Jared writhing harder, his cock curling proud to his stomach, purpling at the tip and dripping pre-come. Jensen licks his way back up his legs stopping to taste the rough hairy roundness of his balls, sucking them into his mouth and then spitting them out one and then the other. It isn’t unpleasant as he thought it would be, just different. The skin of Jared’s cock is softer on the tip of his tongue than he imagined and silky smooth after the hair between his legs. He licks a circumference around the tip and now Jared is babbling loudly and making no sense, words like “Please,” and “Do it,” “Fuck, shit, that.” He’s in the zone, everything narrowed to Jared’s skin and flesh and sex, all other considerations gone. The fluid at the slit of Jared’s cock isn’t bitter, and he sucks at the tip experimentally. Jared’s hips snap forward and his mouth fills with fat, hot cock. He panics and pulls off and Jared’s hand is just there, reaching to tangle into his hair. He flinches and backs off. Jared’s got a tear in his eye and is repeating “Sorry,” but Jensen knows it’s not Jared’s fault. 

“It was too difficult. I shouldn’t have moved.” Jared is still apologizing and then he’s reaching to his nightstand and opening a drawer. Jensen watches with fascination. His cock is throbbing, hard between his legs and the blood is thrumming through his veins in a steady chant of “want”.  He grinds his own erection against Jared’s, he doesn’t think he can stop, whatever it is that Jared is fetching out. There’s an answering thrust from Jared and then Jensen sees what it is that Jared is offering to him. He thinks he might fall apart there and then, come sticky on Jared’s stomach. He wants to hold back, there’s something he hasn’t tried, he takes a panting breath and snatches the offering in Jared’s hand. 

“S’ok, use it, need some help to stay still.” 

Jensen’s eyes are wide with wonder he edges up the bed still on his knees, still straddling Jared and he can see Jared’s chest heaving rapidly but he thinks it is with anticipation not fear. He winds the tie around Jared’s wrists until there’s no give and knots it firmly then pulls his pliant, muscled arms to the headboard and fixes them securely to the bar. He looks back to the lover under him, cooperative and giving and he thinks he can call him a lover because there is trust. This feels like making love, he just knows it is. 

There’s a relief that there can be no sudden clutch and squeeze of hands. Jensen relaxes and notes that he is now on all fours over Jared and his cock is jutting proudly near Jared’s face. Jared is licking his lips and begging again and he can give Jared this, he wants it too. Jensen grinds his hips low and watches Jared strain at his bindings to bring his face up and let his tongue stick out to lick at Jensen’s cock.

Jensen can find no words to describe the sensation of slurping warm and wet tongue  licking against his length. It is all consuming, earthy and yet electric. It makes his mind soar and his toes curl. He moves so that the wetness at the tip of his cock slides over Jared’s face and Jared squirms and begs and asks for more, more, more. He lets the tip of his cock slide between Jared’s open, red lips and watches carefully but there are no visual indicators of disgust. Jared takes it with eagerness and sucks it into his velvet warm mouth, lifting his neck to slide it deeper and then dropping back to suckle loudly at the swollen head. Jared’s whole body is trembling beneath him, groin grinding into air in time with the slide of Jensen’s cock and then there’s a surge of feeling, more intense than he’s ever known from his own hand. Jensen throws his head back and there’s an explosive keening that comes from his lips as his orgasm erupts in white ropes over Jared’s lips and continues to douse his face. 

Jared is screaming an enthusiastic “Yes,” he’s lost all control, coming apart as he comes untouched over the flesh of his own belly. 

For Jensen the world goes from red _032C_ to black _6C_ and then blinding white and he’s falling into foggy euphoria and onto the hot, welcoming flesh of his lover. It’s sweaty, sticky, heart-stoppingly perfect and he doesn’t want to pull away or open his eyes. He buries his face into the muscular flesh of Jared’s chest and lets his pulse slow. Lethargy lures him into a mist.

Jared wakes to the sound of Lorretta screeching and the slamming of his bedroom door. The reassuring weight on his chest is moving away as Jensen scrabbles fearfully under the comforter. Jared tries to move but his arms are a dead weight, numb and unyielding. His mind is clearing and memories of their early morning activities are suddenly and vividly recalled. His arms aren’t moving because they are tied and there is an itchy crust of dried fluid over his face. It appears that both of them had been naked on top of the covers until Lorretta’s intrusion and now there is simply a large lump where Jensen is hiding under the covers. Fuck! This has to stop. He has a lot of kinks but really, exhibitionism isn’t one of them.

“Jen,” he nudges his foot at the shape that nestles in the dark, next to his toes, “Jen, she’s gone. I need you to untie me.”

Another nudge and Jen is shaking under the covers. Shit! He didn’t mean to scare him or make him cry.

“Jen. I’m sorry okay, but my arms have gone dead and I’m naked and tied up, with jizz on my face, and my housekeeper is in the house. Please untie me.”

Jensen bursts from under the covers. His chest is still heaving but his mouth is in a wide smile. The bastard is laughing, silent tears of mirth roll down his cheeks.

Nimble fingers pick at the pulled knots until Jared is free and Jensen rubs a soothing massage over his shoulders and peppers light kisses on him. Jared marvels at the sheer joy that Jensen is exuding.

They shower separately. Jensen has a routine but he revels in the hot water and Jared bustles around him to make sure he has everything he needs, finishing with a huge fluffy towel that Jensen looks almost child like wrapped in, playing with all the small luxuries in the bathroom. Switching the shower radio on and off and lifting the electric toothbrush, examining it while the head buzzes and vibrates.

Jared dresses then dashes across the hallway to collect clothes from Jensen’s room. He watches, happy at Jensen’s reaction to the new clothes that all his friends have chipped in to buy. Katie had carefully noted the measurements of his old clothes and taken notes. Sophia had, rather ingeniously (or creepily) borrowed a shoe measure from a shop and used it to measure his feet while Jensen was still in a coma. He has underwear, jeans, soft pants, T-shirts, a hoodie, slippers and a sturdy pair of trainers. The clothes fit beautifully and Jared has to admire Sophia’s taste. Jared promises that they’ll go shopping together so that Jensen can choose his own apparel but he hugs his hands over his chest protectively and writes _I like these_. There’s a final piece of clothing which Jared hands to him ceremoniously. It is a top of the line, waterproof coat with fleece lining. “If it’s raining, from now on you wear this. No excuses!”

Lorretta has calmed down by the time Jared convinces Jensen to join him in the kitchen. She’s got red tips to her ears and she’s chatting without a pause but she’s made a stack of pancakes and a big pot of coffee because her boys will be hungry. There’s not a word said about the incident with the broom on the day of Jensen’s hospitalization and she pretends not to notice that she hasn’t been introduced to the green-eyed man. She talks to him as if he’s always been a member of the household.

 

Jensen is his typically reserved self. He doesn’t make eye contact or attempt to join the conversation but he eats politely and doesn’t rush away. She changes the sheets on Jared’s bed and puts the laundry on before she leaves them alone for the day with the promise that she will make a casserole for their dinner. The businessman sees her to the door and apologizes. There is a new understanding that even when she thinks everyone is at work she will knock on doors before entering bedrooms and Jared acknowledges that she is now looking after three men rather than one and promises to increase her pay check.

 

Suddenly, it is just Jared, Jensen and Sadie at home with a new ‘together plan’ to make and some serious financial adjustments still to be undertaken for Padalecki Inc. Jared drags a low table over to the couch, sets up his laptop and grabs Jen’s notebook and pen. Jensen adds the stiff, brown, dated envelopes and they settle down to ‘talk’ about meds, rest time, hospital appointments, Sadie’s walks, friends, meals, Jeff and work commitments. Jared insists that some time is included for Jensen to be alone if he needs it and Jensen insists that private time is added for them together. Well that clears up Jensen’s definition of _private_ , thinks Jared. 

More than once Jared thinks he might lose his temper. Jensen is fussy and exacting about making sure everything is included and times are accurate. Jared isn’t used to working to anybody else’s timetable and he’s not sure he can adjust. He bites his tongue because he can see how far Jensen has come in a matter of days since he woke from his coma. If Jensen can sit by his side and calmly discuss these things then Jared can surely accommodate him, especially when the hottest sex he’s ever had is added to the equation. They haven’t talked about Jensen climbing into his bed, or the passionate sex that ensued, or the bound hands or even the fact that Jensen was actually a bit of a snuggler in his sleep. 

When they are almost finished Jared realizes with a sense of frustration that they haven’t yet factored ‘talk time’ into their together plan and Dr. Singh would be disappointed if they excluded it. He draws a noisy breath and suggests an alteration.

After an hour, with most matters settled, Jared notices Jensen’s lack of participation. There’s a far-off look in his eyes and he’s staring at a landscape painting with incredible concentration. Despite all their best laid plans, Jen has checked out. Jared grabs a soft throw to put over his knees and calls Sadie. He takes Jensen’s hand and squeezes it until Jen notices him, a trick borrowed from the nurse at the hospital. “I’m taking Sadie for a walk. You rest.” There’s the slightest inclination of Jensen’s head and then nothing.

Jared sets the door alarm on his way out. He keys in the new code and makes sure the door is tightly locked. He checks that the new video security system is working and looks down the street where surveillance equipment is hidden in an unmarked van. He nods his head in acknowledgement of the powerfully built and armed man who keeps watch over his home from the seat of a red station wagon. Jared has no idea if Misha is aware that Jensen has survived but he isn’t going to take any chances.  


 

 


	19. Chapter 19

Jensen’s fingers move swiftly over the keyboard. He’s calculating at speed, but it’s following a pattern and easy enough. He doesn’t like to think about the reasons he is doing this so he lets the numerical flow overtake him. Misha’s task is completed in Nevada and he returns home tomorrow.

Jared takes a break from his laptop, grateful that Jeff thought to bring an extra one home for Jensen. He stretches out and glances at the stack of Jensen’s envelopes and knows he has to read the day of the Linden fire sooner or later. He can gather his resolve but he needs a coffee first. He flits a hand briefly over Jensen’s screen to grab his attention and asks, “Coffee?” He smugly signs the word too. He’s been picking up fragments of ASL from Jensen over the last few days.

Jensen nods and puts up two fingers for a double shot and Jared tuts because it’s not advised with his meds. He’ll still make it that way. Jen has him twisted around his little finger.

It has been easier since the first day when Jensen and Jared made their together plan. It had tired Jensen to the point of total social withdrawal twice and Jared had to walk off his frustration with Sadie as his excuse. Jensen has had two appointments with Doctor Singh and met his speech therapist. Jared has had one session with his own counsellor which raised more questions than it answered. 

Jensen and Jared ‘talk’ every day but they are only skimming the surface, restricted by lack of verbal communication and the tacit avoidance of the issues around the significant and troubled way that their history is tangled. 

They have tackled the issue of money. Jensen has agreed not to leave coins or IOU notes in the kitchen and by the shower. They have worked out a contribution that Jensen can make to the household each week. It is carefully based on half of the utility bills and groceries. Jared has refused any rent because the house was a part of his grandmother’s bequest.  For now, Jensen will keep a note of what is due and he can pay the balance when he has a job, or when Jared finally convinces him that the compensation payment in his safety deposit boxes is his to use, as needed. 

They don’t mention the past or consider the future. They are rooted in the now and their present is sexually charged to a degree that is undoubtedly unhealthy. Jared isn’t sure how to define their relationship and wonders if the same question ever bothers Jen. Every night Jensen comes to his bed and Jared lets him. He encourages a man, who was his obsessive stalker for two years, to tie him up, hold him down, touch him, lick him taste him, use his mouth and come on his skin. He hasn’t told Jensen that he fantasized about this. In the days after discovering the existence of his stalker, he had imagined Jen grabbing him in a dark alley, or taking him unexpectedly in the night. He had wanted Jen to push him to his knees and take him hard and dirty. He had displayed himself at his window, cock in hand, and it had felt powerful to tease him but there was a part of him that wanted to tempt Jen into action. It is too difficult to admit, he thinks he must be sick in the head.

Wherever they have been Jared hasn't once refused a touch, a kiss or a lick. Jensen hasn’t had full intercourse with him but he fucks into his mouth enthusiastically, grinds their bodies together and in the past two days has experimented, probing wet fingers into his ass and watching Jared squirm, moan and push down on them. When it’s over there are no hugs, no post-coital petting or idle chat. Sometimes Jensen will collapse asleep, curled into Jared’s side, others he will leave Jared, wash and return to his own bed. Jared likes it best when Jen stays, sweaty and sated, by his side, but Jensen shows no preference.

There’s the other elephant in the room. It is huge and as grey as the sooty ash that covered his hometown the day after the Becks explosion. Jensen works to transfer the illegal funds from Padalecki accounts to a holding account, but he hasn't been told the significance. He knows the practical mechanics but he hasn’t been told his own connection to the fraudulent activity or what Jared’s intention is. Jen has offered to be the one who lures Misha to his fate, but it wasn't explained to him why it will work better if it is him. Jared hasn’t told Jensen about the danger it will expose him to, and that it all started because Jared killed Josh Ackles. The Becks explosion may not have been his fault exactly, but he set up the scene and sent Jen’s brother to his death as surely as loading bullets into a gun and firing at his target. Josh had trusted Jared and without that, none of the rest of their awful plot could have worked. How can Jensen trust Jared once he knows that? How can Jared trust Jensen not to take his own revenge?

Jared sets a mug of coffee by Jensen’s side and Jensen minimises his screen and puts down his laptop. He pats the space by his side and licks his lips. His eyes glimmer emerald in the early afternoon light and his freckles stand out, as golden as the shine of his hair. He holds out a hand to Jared and gives an encouraging nod, “Tch” he says.

Jared knows it is an invitation to participate in something that Doctor Singh has suggested. There’s a lot of annoying, trivial or uncomfortable things that the doctor has suggested but this particular exercise he loves. It makes Jensen nervous but it is surprising how quickly he is accepting it.

“You want me to touch?”

“mhm.”

“I want to do something differently. Can I do something different? You let me once, in Kindergarten.” Jared asks.

Jensen answers with a nod but he sits stiff with anxiety as Jared reaches his hand slowly to his face. He smoothes his thumb over Jensen's defined cheekbones, trying to ignore worry lines that crease on Jen’s brow. He lifts the pad of his forefinger and delicately places it on the bridge of Jen’s nose where a burst of tan freckles lie, “One,” Jared moves his finger a fraction, “Two.” He continues until Jensen is used to it and becomes blithely relaxed about the touch. Jared reaches 201 and declares it an accurate freckle count of his face and neck. Jensen lets Jared cup his face and dip in for a brief kiss. It feels like real progress.

Jensen drinks the rest of his coffee and takes his meds. Jared asks his permission to read his diary and specifies the dates. It seems a huge intrusion of privacy but it never seems to bother Jen, “iss,” he says as he nods. He’s getting closer to real words every day. Jensen consults his journal and then waves a temporary goodbye as he goes to his studio room for some alone-time. Jensen will probably spend the time washing every surface of the room and then scrub some more. The first two days Jared had tried to stop him cleaning, told him he would put Lorretta out of a job. It only served to make Jen jumpy and anxious. Now they have a compromise. Jensen can clean his studio whenever he likes but he doesn’t clean anywhere else. Jared won’t disturb him. 

He sits in the corner of the couch and opens the envelope. He’s not sure what he’s hoping to see but he finds the day of the Linden fire and there is a sketch of the Linden building in dark shadow, the rough outline of a car and a list on the page. 

_ Porsche Cayenne 2011   
cool grey 6, _

Sure enough the license plate is Jeff’s.

It shows the slightest lick of flames at the South corner and the dark shape of a man. It’s drawn with an HB 2 and everything is rough and sketchy in grey on white. The only real detail is the description of the car. Jared doesn’t know how he feels about it. He picks at the corner before turning the page, curious to find out Jensen’s frame of mind the next day.

The days following the fire are an eye opener when seen through Jensen’s eyes. He keeps reading but is halted in his tracks by an interim entry labelled ‘night’. There is no date and it is an exceptional anomaly. He re-reads it with concentration, then re-reads again, and collects bourbon, which he gulps in one swallow, before reading it again. Between two and three in the morning someone entered his office, moving through the corridor and halting again at Jeff’s office before the lights went out. No alarms sounded and security weren’t alerted. One car exited out of the Padalecki Inc. basement and came to a halt just outside the garage. The make and license plate identify it as Misha’s car. Someone else walked through the gate at the same time, took an envelope from Misha, banged the top of his car and got into another car parked on the street outside the building. It wouldn’t be remarkable if it wasn’t for the stranger’s car and its license plate. Jared has seen it before. It belongs to the local P.D. and is driven by a forensics officer who is working on the Linden investigation. 

Jared flicks the pages back and starts again. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for but at least he now thinks he knows one of the people he is looking for. He flips his cell phone up and texts a message to Jim Beaver.

Jeff is looking devastated when he returns home. “I have looked everywhere for the documents. Misha boasted about the existence of his ‘emergency’ account often enough. Fuck!  I know the damn thing exists but he’s hidden it deep or he’s hidden it at home, in that stupid steel cabinet, and there’s no way of getting to it. I had to send Alona on a pointless trip to the printers to keep her away from his office. I have gone through every piece of paper twice.”

“Well we’re done here.” Jared pales but he’s determined. “We don’t need it, we can bluff.”

“He can read us Jared. He’ll know.”

Jared huffs and turns his hand idly looking at his nails, “I found one of his dirty cops. We can work on that.”

“It’s not going to frighten him. We’re not enough to frighten him. Even Jim is less scary than the bastards he works for. I’m not torturing Misha. I’d rather be someone’s prison bitch.”

There’s a hand on Jared’s arm and he jumps. Jensen hasn’t lost the ability to appear from nowhere, silently and without warning. Jeff is startled too, “Dude, warn a guy. You’re a fuckin’ ninja.”

He’s scribbling in his notebook. * _ I can get it .* _

Jeff tries to hide his amusement. He speaks to Jensen as if he is a child, “And even if you are a ninja, I don’t see you being able to break into Misha’s house to magically unlock his secure cabinet.”

“No, Jen, it’s too dangerous,” Jared’s words are refusing the offer but Jeff can see that the possibility is running circles in his mind and he’s stunned by the knowledge.

“Look. None of us has a diploma in breaking and entering so we’ll just toss that idea out of the window shall we?”

“Jeff.” There’s a note of warning from Jared and then Jared is talking to Jensen again. “How sure are you?”

“I can’t believe …”

They both turn to shush Jeff.

The pen scrawls, * _ 100%.  He changes his alarm code every month and he uses a formula.* _

“What is he talking about Jared?” Jeff’s looking between them, at their unspoken communication and he looks worried and slightly sick.

“He can do it.”

Jensen writes as Jeff crowds Jared to get a look at the pad too, asking, “How do you know that?”

“Because he’s done it before, okay? Jen broke into a bunch of houses when he was a kid and he broke in here, picked the lock on my office and cracked my safe the night you beat me up. ”

Jeff is taking a step back from his brother. He’s having trouble processing the information.

“You let him live here, knowing he’s done that? What else is he capable of bro?”

There’s a loud hum, and they both turn back to Jensen. It is hard for him to follow their involved conversation. He’s been ignoring it to write his own question, * _You think Misha hired someone to kill me, don’t you?* _ The paper is angled so both brothers can see it.

Jared swallows. He should have known that Jensen wouldn’t be fooled for long. “Why would he?” is all he can manage.

More writing, _*_ _I see things. I write them down_ _.*_ Then, * _because it wasn’t Jeff at Linden, not tall enough, wrong colors. Also,* _ Jeff and Jared look over his shoulder as he finishes the sentence. _*_ _I know what you all did to Josh.*_

There’s silence. What is there to say?

Jared moves between his brother and his lover, he’s waiting for Jeff to explode, or maybe a third world war, perhaps the apocalypse. The silence reaches the corners of the room. It is all-pervading.

The scrape of the ball pen breaks the quietness. * _I like it here with you. I don’t want to die.*   _

Jared doesn’t know if he’s more shocked by Jen’s apparent calm about Becks or because Jensen likes being here with him. Or maybe he feels like a terrible partner because Jen has been scared and unable to share his worries. It doesn’t add up and it gives him mixed feelings. 

Jeff finally forces some words out, “So you’re saying you want revenge, that’s why you want to do this? What about Jared? What about me?”

Jen’s brow furrows, he looks like he genuinely doesn’t understand the question, or why it would be asked. He shakes his head and writes again. * _ We only have tonight. I need my tools. We have to change our plan.* _

A fresh silence bounces from the walls before Jared decides he is going to use Jensen’s strategy. He’s going to ignore emotions and painful truths. He’s storing up a stack of trouble but there was already a burgeoning heap of it, what’s a little more? He rubs his hands together and speaks.  “I guess you’ll tell us when you’re ready. Okay, not much time to plan. Shall we get started?”

Jeff has no argument, he nods dumbly. 

Jensen keys in the fourth number of Misha’s code as the rapid bleep of the warning timer sounds. There are lights on at the house next door and a dog’s bark travels through the thin night air. He has a minute to enter the code and only thirty seconds has passed. The fourth digit appears on the LCD display and then the unthinkable. _**Code error**_. There are now twenty eight seconds left before the alarm sounds at the private security office and there’s a text to Misha’s cell. There’s no time to second guess, he’s already seeing the numbers scrolling in his head, applying the formula, estimating that Misha has made one additional change and praying that he didn’t alter his method. The bleep seems louder and faster as the seconds tick by and his heart is speeding, racing in time with it. He doesn’t let it distract him. He’s absorbed in the task, working to the plan. The timer hits ten and he hits the key pad for the third digit of the estimated code, he flexes his feet, ready to run. Jensen almost fumbles the fourth but then it’s there and there is sudden thick silence. He can’t take another breath until he knows. The display changes to unarmed and he gulps in air.  He checks his gloves and makes sure his bag is flush to his side and then gives the all clear to Jared who waits in the shadows of a large tree. 

Inside, the polished wooden floors echo even the softest socked footsteps and Jared is not stealthy. There’s a hum and soft light where a kaleidoscope of exotic fish dazzle as they drift and dart through the crystal clear depths of a large tank. Jensen stops in awe. He puts a gloved palm flat to the glass and he’s hypnotized by the countless hues of a myriad colors. Untold Pantone numbers scroll in lists through his mind. He’s not sure how long he is motionless and unreachable but there’s a squeeze on his fingers and he’s looking at shades of hazel concern. 

“Jen, Jensen, c’mon.” 

He shakes himself off, and before he can panic, he remembers that Jared can hold his hand. He trusts Jared. 

Misha’s office door is a simple task. A pick-lock handles it smoothly. Jared keeps him focused. The brunette doesn’t allow him to get side tracked by the faint sandalwood scent, the glass sculpture on the desk or the oil painting on the wall. 

This file cabinet is more difficult. It’s an elderly model but sturdy, and the locking mechanism was once the best there was to be had. Jensen is steady handed and methodical. There must be no evidence that they were here. There’s a chorus of disapproval loud in his mind which he drowns out with careful concentration and the reassuring presence of Jared, by his side. He reminds himself that he isn’t stealing and there is nobody here to frighten, nothing will be damaged. He hears Jared’s relieved exhale as the drawers are finally released and slide open smoothly on their runners. They choose a set of files each and start their search. Forty minutes later it is a non-descript piece of paper that Jared finds but there is enough to identify the Antiguan Bank and everything they need. Jen carefully transcribes all the data into his journal and then there is the painstaking task of ensuring that everything is left just-so. There is dust that has been disturbed on the top of the cabinet so Jen takes a moment to blow it back into a realistic layer.

They have almost reached the front door when a security patrol cruises onto the street and makes slow progress with bright lights that probe through unshuttered windows. The flight reflex hits Jensen with a surge of pure adrenalin, _stay in the shadows, don’t draw attention boy_ , and he’s diving to the floor below the windows. He brings down Jared with a grab of the tall man’s ankles that has him hitting the floor without grace and whimpering with the pain. Then Jared is clinging to him, and Jen is letting him, hanging on just as tightly. They stay motionless, stiff with worry, sweat pouring, until the car completes its circuit with tortuous slowness and drives away. They stay frozen for what seems like an age before they pick themselves up and leave. They close the door, reset the alarm and creep away in the dark.

There’s an awkward atmosphere when the evening is over. Nobody talks about it. Jeff, Jared and Jensen go to their own beds early, but Jared isn’t sleeping. The mattress puffs air as he turns in the bed yet again and checks his clock, 3:00 a.m.

Jared gives up. He slips on a tee-shirt with his boxers and goes to make some cocoa. He’s staring into the swirl of chocolate when Jeff pads in and grabs a mug to do the same. “I can’t sleep either,” he says.

Jared warms his hands on his mug, “Maybe there’s something on TV,” he suggests.

They settle with the TV on quietly, Jared flicks through the channels but in the end they leave it on MTV, watching some sort of classic rock countdown. 

Eventually Jeff speaks, “What are you going to do about Jen?”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything, all of this subterfuge. You have Jim so you knew who Jen was. How much more did you know? You’re using him, right? Hot sex, housebreaking, catch Misha, save me. What happens next? Does he disappear?”

Jared sits up straight. He is suddenly alert. “This isn’t a soap opera. It doesn’t have to be complicated. Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? It’s not like he can stick around if he knows everything. Why do you think he’s working with us? I’m not buying into the epic love story of Jensen and Jared. I’m living in the same house as you man, and he doesn’t let you touch him outside sex. There’s no affection from him and he looks like he hates you even being close to him. I know you Jare, you’re the most touchy-feely dude ever.”

There are no words to describe the way he cares for Jen or the little things Jensen does which Jared just knows are because he cares for him. “I can’t make people disappear,” is all he says.

“No, but Jim can and you’re not telling me you aren’t prepared for Jen to double cross us.”

“He’s not like that.”

“Tell me little bro, what is he like? You can kid yourself that you’re not using him but he is using you. Has he given you any explanation for the way he’s stalked us? Do you even know how many times he’s broken in to our homes? He was very accomplished at Misha’s tonight. ”

“What would he be using me for? He hasn’t touched his compensation. He doesn’t need our money or our charity.”

“I don’t know. Nothing good. We can’t trust him. Tell me you know that, at least.” 

Jared is weary and his brother won’t let the subject go unless he hears what he wants Jared to say. He has no reason to put faith in Jensen and his gut instinct won’t be enough to placate Jeff. “Of course I don’t trust him.” 

It is only a little white lie. He gulps the last mouthful of his drink, yawns and stretches. He catches sight of a shape near the kitchen and turns quickly. Jen stands there, looking at them with blank expression and a glass in his hand before he rushes back to his studio room and crashes the door shut. 

“Shit!” Jared chases after him, but stops at the door. He knocks but doesn’t enter. It’s one of Doctor Singh’s boundaries, their bedrooms are private and there is an agreement that Jared will not enter without permission. There was supposed to be a similar rule about Jared’s space, but he has never implemented it. He knows he won’t ever enforce it.  
  
“Jen. Let me in.”

There is no answer to any of his pleas and the door stays shut. Jared sinks to the floor and waits with his head in his hands. Jeff steps across him to go to his own bed. “Give it up,” he says.

At four thirty Jared gives up, “Jen. Are you listening? I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t think before I open my mouth. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t run away. We can work it out. You can be pissed at me. You can even leave if you want to, but don’t do it without making a plan. You need somewhere safe and warm to stay. Jen? I’m going back to my bed. You can come to me, you know that, right?”

There’s never been a more terrible silence.

When Jared wakes from a fitful sleep Sadie is waiting in the hallway with her leash and tennis ball, ready for her morning walk with Jared. Jensen’s door is closed. There’s fresh coffee in the pot and a note on the kitchen surface with a schedule attached. The words are stark black on white paper. * _I made a new plan.*_

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Alona minimizes the internet tab on the website about mental health. She can’t find the specific page for diagnosing whether your boss has lost his mind. She puts a cup of coffee into Jared’s hand and he takes a sip and lifts his brows. “This isn’t ours.”

“I stopped by Black Medicine on the way in,” she boasts with a chirpy grin.

“You should have thought of that before now.”  He turns his back without thanking her and Alona contemplates the merits of rat poison.

“We got the contract back from Nana’s. Legal says their changes are workable,” she shouts after him. She’s expecting a smile, perhaps even a little dance. There’s nothing.

“Send a note to Marketing and make sure they are prepped to get this moving quickly. I want to make the film festival and Gay Pride. Make sure Rainbow have the necessary changes to the packaging approved by Nana’s. Make travel arrangements for Jeff and I to go out to Rainbow on Saturday. Business Class, not First Class. Contact that woman at the Pink Blaze to see if I can get an interview which benefits both of us. Oh, and Alona, when Misha’s flight gets in tell him to come here before he goes home.” 

“Mish told me to give you his love, tell you you’re nuts and as far as he can tell you are still on target, but it’s your turn to buy the bubbly. Oh, and he wants to meet Jen!”

Jared turns on his heel and looks at her, there is an unreadable expression on his face and an inexplicable, cold shiver  travels Alona’s spine. Jared pauses before he speaks, “You two should come over on Sunday. We’ll have dinner, hang out and watch some football.” 

She paints on a smile and says “Great idea. Thanks,” because really, the thought of an extra minute with Jared gives her ideas of self harm.

Alona watches Jared as he gets immersed in the work he has neglected in the days since he rescued the vagrant. It is impossible to keep a secret in Padalecki Inc. and Jared is the gossip at every water cooler in the building. The general consensus is that the stress of his brother’s arrest has sent him crazy. Alona thinks he has been a little insane since the day he first noticed the hobo.

Jared drifts through the day. He’s going through the motions and he feels disconnected. Alona is sneaking sideways glances at him and it is making his gut clench with fear and guilt.

Misha breezes through his door with a box of candy strips and a huge smile just as Jared ends a call to Jeff. The tall man rubs his temples with his fingers. He’s not faking his headache. “Hey,” he greets his friend.

“You look like shit Jared. I would say you need to get laid but rumors suggest it isn’t a problem.” 

“Have you been talking to Jeff?”

Misha sits on Jared’s desk. “Yep. What gives?”

“Jen had pneumonia. I couldn’t let the Padalecki garden gnome die. Our employees think they have too few benefits as it is.”

“And he’s hot.”

“Yeah, he is.” Jared smirks.

“So, why the stress-face?” Misha asks.

“Uck. I said I’d help him find somewhere to live. It’s getting crowded and he’s a bit clingy. I’m not looking for anything permanent with him, y’know? We were looking at a new development, one of those sheltered housing schemes. There’s a show apartment open and they’ll be ready to move in within a month. He needs some help though. I said that I’d go with him to look at the site and talk to the rep on Saturday. I need to look around the area, talk prices, that sort of thing. It’s not something he can do alone. He’s not going to understand pricing schemes or know what questions to ask.”

“So, go do it.”

“Jeff and I have to be at Rainbow or the launch will never get off the ground. I’ll tell Jen we have to cancel,” Jared sighs and hopes it isn’t too exaggerated.

“You do know who Jen is, right?” Misha flicks his fingers through his hair. He’s looking concerned but Jared thinks he can discern something more, something darker.

“Yeah.” He puts his hands up as if in surrender as he speaks, “Jeff’s already given me the lecture. I know he’s not Josh and he’s not exactly a suitable match but let me live dangerously. It’s charity and fun all rolled into one and it gives me contacts at the local homeless shelter and that give Padalecki’s caring, sharing image a boost. There will be a few photo opportunities. I’ve volunteered for you to do the soup run a few times, and I’m serving suppers.” 

“Gee, thanks. Here I was thinking that you’d changed, but it’s too late, you’re destined to be an evil bastard for the rest of your life. Do you really think Jen will be able to stay in one place? He seems the type to drift off, back to the street. You do know that he will probably disappear as mysteriously as he arrived don’t you? You shouldn’t get too attached.” 

It is a possibility that Jared has dwelled on when he’s been lonely in his bed, and he doesn’t want to be reminded of his insecurity. He steals a stack of candy strips from Misha and stuffs several into his mouth at once. Not much can keep him from candy. 

“Hey. Not fair! Candy criminal!”

“You know you bought it for me.”

Misha places the box on Jared’s desk. “You’ll have to share with Alona or she’ll set fire to your files.” He looks thoughtful, “If Jen would let me go with him to look at the development then I can explain the financial details and look it over for you. I’d have to check with Alona but I’m sure she’d rather be shopping for shoes on a Saturday.”

“I pay her too much,” grumbles Jared, “I can’t expect you to give up your weekend.”

“I have to check out the competition don’t I? Is his ass that much better than mine?”

Misha stands up, wiggles his hips and blows a kiss at his friend.

“Definitely,” deadpans Jared. He’s trying not to choke on his own false smile because this is Misha. This is his best buddy, his port in a storm, his confidante and his court jester. This is the man who has betrayed him. This is the friendship which will be forsaken. “I’ll find out if Jen is ready to take on your madness. It may be too much for him.”

“Let me know.”

“I will.Thanks.”

Misha is about to leave when Alona hurries in. She grabs at her boyfriend to put him between herself and her boss. “The entire Padalecki server is down,” she blurts out and waits for the explosion. 

“Shit! What happened?” Jared feigns surprise and prays that it is convincing.

“I.T. said they were doing scheduled maintenance and updating some systems when they hit a glitch. According to Ash something needs renewing and they’re hoping to get it back on line by tomorrow night. You should go down there.”

“But tomorrow is Friday, it’s a few days from year end, and there’s payroll to be done.” Jared has a thunderous expression on his face.

Misha clicks into action, “We have a back up system. If we have the last good copy of accounts, we can make arrangements and balance the books when we are live again. You go kick ass, and I’ll assume the worst and start.” Misha points at them both. “Don’t let anyone disturb me,” he points at Jared and looks at Alona “and make sure he doesn’t have any weapons when he goes down to I.T!”

Alona gives Misha a fond smile and then glares at Jared, “Aye, aye, Sir.”

Normally Jared would be impressed with Misha’s professional commitment and his willingness to work around a problem, but now he wonders how much of Misha’s helpfulness stems from being scared that someone will find the false numbers that he has hidden within their accounts.

Deceit is exhausting. Lorretta has left lasagne and salad for their supper. Jeff is out with Danneel, and Jared perches his meal on his lap to eat while watching Die Hard. Jensen sits at the far end of the couch. His eyes don’t flicker in the direction of the television. He has been overtly watching Jared’s every move since he got home. The executive feels like a bug under a microscope. 

They had sat on opposite sides of the breakfast bar to have their scheduled talk time. Jared had described the day’s events, and Jen had asked for some small details. Jared had tried to apologize again for what he had said in the early hours of the morning, but Jen had reached fingers to his mouth and shushed him. They talked about the role that Jen would play in their scheme and Jared had been at pains to describe the many safeguards that were already in place to keep Jensen and Sadie secure. There was little else said, but it doesn’t matter because Jen was already moving back to the studio. The time he had allocated to be together had been reduced to a minimum on his new plan. 

Jared pours a drink and settles on his couch but he can’t get comfortable. He flicks through the channels and watches snatches of several shows before settling to watch an old black and white horror flick. At least it gives him an excuse to be fidgety and on edge. When the final credits roll on the movie and the television screen goes black the house is silent aside from the ticking of a clock. Jared goes to bed, but he doesn't sleep and Jensen doesn't come to him in the night.

Friday is hellish, and Jared has black rings around his eyes from lack of sleep. He’s strung out, tense to almost breaking point. He has an acid tongue and quick temper. Alona avoids him, Jeff ignores him and Misha is too busy to notice. Mid-afternoon he plucks up the courage to make the call to Misha to confirm that Jen will meet him at the development site the next day. Soon after that he vomits his lunch into the executive toilets. He makes his apologies and takes a walk home.

He’s not expecting to find Christian at home with Jen. They both look startled and a little guilty when he strides in. “I’m sorry, I’m early, I have a headache so ignore me,” Jared says as he opens a can of soda.

“I hope it’s painful,” remarks Chris. 

Jared ignores the slight, he probably deserves it, but Jen darts an icy glare at the blue eyed man. “I didn’t know you were coming,” Jared comments.

“I’m just leaving.” Christian replies, “Surely Jen is allowed friends here?”

Jen signs something at Christian and the shelter manager chooses to sign his reply. There appears to be a silent disagreement.

“Jen is allowed anyone over. I didn’t know he was in contact with you. I should have organized something for him.”

“I gave Jen a cell phone before he left the hospital. Told him to text if anything went wrong or he needed me. He texted me this morning. He also has email on the laptop you lent him, or will you be taking that from him?”

Jared is lost in the accusation, he’s been an asshole but he’s not sure why Chris would be so aggressive towards him. There’s another silent instruction from Jen, and Chris apologises to the green-eyed man. “Sorry man, I’m going, let you fight your own battles and all that. You contact me if you need help. Any time.”

Jen nods and waves, then signs “Thank you,” Jared recognizes it. 

Chris jangles the keys to the van he came over in, “Walk with me,” he instructs Jared as he stands to leave.

In the weak sunshine and breezy air Christian pulls the van door open and stands by it. He lowers his voice to talk directly to Jared, “I know your type. I see the ones who take advantage of people on the street because they are friendless and defenseless, they don’t expect much and assholes like you breeze in and take without a thought. Jen’s good looking with a beautiful mind, and if you take advantage of that then you are no better than a pimp. Know this, Mr. Padalecki, Jensen has friends. I am one of them, and it means that he is not defenceless. I have no idea what you did to upset Jen, but I am not afraid of you or your type. The only reason you’re still standing is because he asked me not to hurt you.”  Chris gets into his seat and buckles his belt. “Next time I’m not going to be so charitable.” The door closes with a clunk, the engine revs and Christian is gone, leaving a cloud of black engine smoke behind him.

When Jared returns to the house Jen is waiting with a glass of water, Tylenol and an outstretched hand. It’s an unexpected gesture. He takes the hand and lets himself be pulled through to Jen’s studio room. Fingers touch his face briefly and remove his jacket from his shoulders, his tie is loosened before he’s pushed onto the sheets and the coverlet is pulled up to his shoulders. Whatever Jen has told Christian that Jared has done, this seems an odd way to deal with it. He protests weakly because his eyes sting with the pain in his head, he’s confused, anxious and stressed, and he couldn’t get it up even if he hadn’t just been accused of being a sexual predator. The pads of Jen’s fingers massage his brow and there is no lust in the actions, just care. The room is warm and smells of sweet chamomile and oil paints. Colored drapes blow gently by an open window. Somewhere in the house a clock ticks. Jensen’s breathing matches time, regular and reassuring.

The lines on Jared’s face smooth out as he sleeps. Jensen watches him, hypnotized by the slight movement of his lips as air blows through them and the steady rise, fall of his chest. Jared’s eyes are sunken with dark shadows, and there’s the faintest whiff of sickness. He hasn’t been drinking, but he has been ill. Jen has thought about the friendship that Jared will be sacrificing to protect him. The idea of what he might be feeling is abstract, but he tries to imagine it. He recalls Josh’s death, and there’s a memory of losing control, sickness and devastating, toxic anger. There’s always an unfilled space by his side, however crowded he is. After this is finished, he wonders if there will two empty spaces to throw grey shadows whenever he is together with Jared.   
  
  
As time passes Jensen's own nerves are jangling. Butterflies flutter and shove at the base of his stomach. He knows that today is the last chance he has to make a difference. Three little words hang heavy and unspoken in the air, weighed down by years of uncertainty and frozen inability. It has to be now, of that he is certain, and without them he cannot expect Jeff or Jared to trust him. The speech therapist has been to the house twice in two days and Chris has helped him too. Now is the time. He hears Jeff slam the front door, there’s the metallic clatter of keys hitting the hall table and the thunk of his briefcase being dropped to the floor. “Jay!”

Hazel eyes flicker open and squint in confusion at the unfamiliar sleeping place. Jen leans over him and brushes wayward strands of hair from his face.

“Jared! Jen!” Jeff is calling. There was a time scheduled for talking about their plan and the hands of the clock meet their allotted places. Jensen lifts his small alarm clock and shows Jared the time. Jared groans “Okay, okay, I’m up.

Jared describes his day and Misha’s offer to complete the payroll. Jeff is worried about the involvement of I.T. and specifically how Jared can trust Ash so completely. Jared raises his eyebrows, “He came to us with a history of hacking and a court case on his back. I fixed that. He owes me and he trusts me.”

Whatever, it’s too late to make alterations, thinks Jensen.

Jared talks Jensen through the cab journey. He will be meeting Misha at the housing scheme. Jim’s fake housing rep. will be there waiting for them and watching out for Jensen’s safety. He shows him photographs of the fake rep. and has the man introduce himself on Skype. Jen listens and watches but doesn’t participate. The man is not part of his current reality. Apparently, the number of strangers that Jensen will have to deal with worries Jared. There are words he can say to help Jared to believe in him, so he writes them. They may or may not be true. Jensen has a plan and he believes he will cope. Sometimes he believes wrong, but he will follow the plan, for Jared. 

Both Jeff and Jensen argue that there is no need for Jim’s men to be at the house with Jensen. Jared compromises on the number of people that will be involved. Jensen’s yellow cab has been booked and will arrive at a specified time. The driver is trusted and he is an experienced bodyguard in his own right. There is still surveillance at the perimeter of the house and it is decided that it would be counter productive for anyone else to accompany Jensen to the meeting place. The housing scheme has been chosen because, on paper, it is the ideal place for Misha or a paid hitman to strike. Jared shows Jensen a drawing of where the cameras and microphones will be hidden and where Jared, Jeff and Jim will be. 

Jensen can’t remember when his world went blank but there’s a squeeze on his hand and he looks into hazel eyes. Jeff is gone. He can hear him in the kitchen and the clink of a spoon in a coffee mug. There is the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. They take a break for coffee and for Jensen to be alone in his studio room. He polishes the expanse of window glass until it gleams. He realizes that he has been circling his cloth on the same pane of glass for twenty notches of the clock and he snaps back to himself. There is something he needs to say and he knows that it must be said tonight. He has worked at the shape of his mouth, the position of his tongue and the way that air leaves his lungs for two whole days. He has sounded out the syllables separately and spoken them together, in private. This time he knows he can succeed. He returns to Jared and Jeff to continue with their task.

Soon enough there is a timed plan. Jen wants to shut it out and pretend it isn’t real but it is and it is important. He has to do this if he wants to move on with his life. He pinches the delicate skin of his own wrist until it bruises, to force his own attention. He participates with brief words on paper. He is getting weary as the hands on the clock continue moving. He almost doesn’t hear Jeff’s gruffly voiced and terse question, “Why should we trust you Jensen. What is in it for you?” 

Jensen panics. His hands are trembling, curled tight around his journal and his eyes won’t meet Jeff’s. There are colors everywhere, distracting him with numbers and sequences but the only one that matters is the black of his journal. He slows his breathing as Josh once taught him and gradually releases his grip on his filofax to grasp at the flap and undo the elastic band closure. This is it. He has to go through with it. He flips the pages and finds what he is looking for. His fingers feel as thick as sausages and less agile, and he’s struggling to extract the delicate painting of ten black roses and the yellowing envelope with shaky hand writing that was written by Grandma Padalecki in the days before she became a stiffened corpse to bury in cold ground. 

The paper crinkles and tears in his effort but the letter inside is mostly in one piece when he slides it across the table to Jared. He reaches into his pocket and takes out another sheet of paper, in his own scrawl and written only that day. He unfolds it and passes it across, placing it under the old note.

For a moment their hands meet and there is warmth and the thrill of the touch. “What is it?” Jared is asking him.

Jen pushes it at him again and then finds the strength to get up from his seat. The chair tumbles and crashes to the floor as he runs into the living room and scoots to the furthest corner of the couch where he hides his face in his hands. It’s black and safe there and he rocks, just a few centimetres each way but enough to dizzy his mind and comfort him. He can’t do it. He hasn’t succeeded in two years, why should this be any different?

He’s not sure how long he’s been there but there is the squeeze of his hand and Jared’s mellow voice, “Jen, come back to us. There’s nothing wrong here. You’ve nothing to worry about. Please Jen.”

He’s doing it all wrong and Josh would be frustrated if he were here. He has to calm down. He has to remember the plan. He is still gripping his journal, he forces himself to focus and open the pages. It’s there, neat letters on the page. Jensen takes a long shuddering breath to compose himself. His head clears as he stills his movement and there’s light trickling through his eyelashes as he forces his eyes open. There’s a single second of courage and clarity and Jen seizes it. He grabs at Jared’s hand and Jared gives a girly screech of shock, as he’s pulled onto the sofa beside him. The man who he cares so much for, lands gracelessly and fast and Jen clambers onto him, sitting astride of his knees and pushing him with the palm of his hand on his chest, into the support of the sofa.

Jeff clears his throat and speaks nervously, “Er, guys?” 

“Sss!” The sound is ferocious and deliberate. Jensen has a finger over his mouth.

Jared’s lashes are parted wide around dazed eyes, and he’s biting his lip but Jen doesn’t think he’s afraid. Jared knows his secret now, and he should never be scared of Jensen again. Jared’s lips are moving and Jensen remembers to listen to the sound as well as look at the shapes, “You were there, you saw what I did, you heard what I said. You told Grandma Padalecki and you both kept it a secret. You compromised and went after the company but kept us out of jail, just for her, because she forgave you when you were a child. All those years ago, she forgave you for breaking into her home and scaring her. She went behind our Pa’s back to help you. You loved her.”  
  
It isn’t a question and Jensen nods.He remembers her  compassion and the way her care lifted the black and poisonous cloud that had threatened to choke every last bit of love and joy from him.

  
Jared continues, “The letter she wrote before she died, you kept it with you. It was with you every day that you came to the Padalecki Building wasn’t it?”  
  
Jensen nods. He can see Jared motioning for Jeff to sit by their side, and Jeff gingerly places himself next to them. He looks terrified and there’s a part of Jensen that knows Jeff needs this resolved too.

Jared looks as if he might die without the answer to the question he hasn’t been brave enough to vocalize, “What she asked you to do in her letter …did you?” Jared is quivering with stress, and his fingers are drumming on his thigh. He falters in his query, but it doesn’t matter because Jen has made the commitment and the air hums ready in his chest. He looks toward Jeff and then directly at Jared. The sound is bubbling up in him and it is unfamiliar. He wants to end it. It is heart-stoppingly scary, and he’s been practising, but he’s sure it will come out wrong. He’ll be too loud and too soft, too high, too low, shouting and ridiculous and foreign to his own ears. 

When it comes, it is surprisingly easy and oddly short. The accent is strange. His voice is low and growly, but all the letters flow in the right order, even if the emphasis is a little odd.

“I f-or-give you,” he blinks and grins because it was never supposed to be that simple. All the days he watched and waited, all the times he built it up in his head, he never imagined such ease. The Padalecki brothers are looking at him and he’s calculating the numbers of the colors and the angle of the lines, the size of their eyes and the shape of their mouths. They aren’t angry. He’s not sure what they feel, but it isn’t bad, he can tell that.

“I forgive you,” he says again, and the release of the moment is overwhelming. As if sensing her master’s mood Sadie yips and moves to sit by their legs. There is wet on Jensen’s face and snot running down his nose and all the evidence tells him that he is crying but he doesn’t care. It took him a long time to comprehend what he had to do. It took him even longer to understand how he would do it. Along the way, he made friends, acquired skills and learned new things about himself, about Jared, Jeff and Misha. There are three more words that he thinks he may need to say to Jared but that is for their _private_ time. He knows he can learn them, because he has finally achieved what he first followed Jared here to do.

There are tears spilling through Jared’s lashes, and Jen wipes them away with his finger, “Sss!”

Jeff is blowing his nose into a large tissue and surreptitiously wiping the droplets from his cheeks. It is a catharsis he will never admit that he craved.

Jared looks beautiful. Even as the edges of his eyes turn red and his face becomes blotchy he is the most wonderful human being Jensen has ever known. He leans forward on Jared’s thighs to kiss the slightly open mouth. He tastes the salt of tears and follows the trail with his tongue. He leans his forehead against Jared’s and revels in the taste, the smell and even the closeness. 

“You okay?” Jared whispers the question.

“Iss,” he’s reaching to unbutton Jared’s shirt even as he answers, and Jared’s eyes don’t leave his face.

When he tosses Jared’s shirt aside he notices that Jeff has gone. It doesn’t concern him for long, his hands tangle in silky brunette hair and he is diving in to suck at the smooth skin of Jared’s neck, marking him with his claim. Jared moans and pushes his pelvis up into him. His hands drop to his sides and fingers grasp the sofa cushions. Jensen stops to think about everything he has learned and what he wants. He puts his hands on Jared’s shoulders and moves them downwards, smoothing the skin all the way to Jared’s hands. He sits upright on his lover’s lap and pulls Jared’s fingers to the bottom of his tee-shirt, bunches the material into them and then helps him to lift it off over his head. He guides the gentle hands back to his bare skin and encourages the touch. He shivers as they reach his nipples and circle the hardening pink nub. It is as if he can feel every ridge and swirl on the pad of the fingertip and his hairs stand to attention as he thrills to it. Jared is looking intently at his face, and he notices the tight clench of his own jaw and his body, rigid with tension. He has to remind himself to relax because there is no pressure and he isn’t contained. He can move away any time he wants.

Jared seems to sense the emotions that war within him, “You can stop me any time. You’re in control Jen. This is nice, so good, I don’t want to stop. I don’t think you want me to.” 

Jared is right. Jensen doesn’t want this to end and there is no rush. Jensen believes he does want to find out how Jared’s touch feels, over every part of him, and he feels secure to try it. He knows that Jared will stop if he asks. Jensen can control this, and it is enough.  
  
  


 


	21. Chapter 21

There’s a quiet desperation and need in the way that Jensen loves him. There’s a part of Jared that is uncomfortable about the revelations in the letters he read. Jensen has been watching Jared from the shadows all his life. Jared thinks Jensen knows him better than anybody else does, maybe he does. To him, Jensen is still unmapped territory and he doesn’t know which paths are safe to explore, but he launches himself headlong, without caution. He wonders who is the more obsessive of them. 

Jared lets himself be led by the hand and laid out naked on the covers of his huge bed while Jensen straddles his hips, cock at attention, huge and proud. He allows himself to be manipulated so that his hands touch Jensen’s cool, silky flesh. Even now, with his lips sucking at Jen’s nipple and his hands stroking the muscular globes of his lover’s ass, it feels like giving rather than taking. Jensen consumes him and Jared offers it willingly. There is no part of his emotion, thoughts, or body that doesn’t belong to the green-eyed man. He’s had other lovers, fumbling trysts on unhygienic sofas during his school years and short affairs on silk sheets, but every one had expectations of the powerful brunette. He took from them, topped without query. He never questioned the way he would sometimes let them manipulate the action and pace, let them push him to his knees or pin him beneath, and ride him. There was an afterglow and a satisfaction but never this all-encompassing freefall, this loss of control, this gifting of ownership. It is exciting, deliciously frightening and perfect.

There is a moment when Jen reaches to the nightstand and there’s the snick of a cap and the obscene splurt of lube, he can say no, and he is sure that Jensen will stop. Jared can tell him that this is his first time, like this, being filled and fucked. He could ask for a condom or talk about technique, but he doesn’t say a thing, he wants it like this, unrefined, hard and messy. 

Fingers circle his rim then push and probe. It’s too much and not enough, painful and wonderful. He’s thrashing his head and squeezing his hands into acres of freckled, smooth skin as he pushes up and his cock rubs friction against Jensen’s bare flesh with a spine tingling frisson of excitement. He’s moaning, somewhere in there is “More!” and “Do it!” because he’s losing his mind with lust and his cock is rigid with need, pulsing to the beat of want. Suddenly his ass is empty and he’s writhing and pushing down for more but strong hands grab at his errant arms and slam them over his head, pin them at the wrists then expertly tie them to prevent wandering hands. Jensen is leaning over him. Sweat beads from his forehead and trickles down the line of his cheek, it continues down his neck, picking up size and pace over the sheen of Jen’s heaving chest. There’s barely any green left in the passionately intense eyes, pupils blown wide with desire and the pink bow lips are open in a perfect 0 as he pants to catch air.

”Yes, God, yes!” confirms Jared. He wants it like this looking up at the beauty that has chosen him. A demanding grip splays his legs wide, displays him for use and he’s bucking his hips impatiently.

“Sss!” he’s being pushed back down and his dick is being stroked with curiosity. Finally, finally, when it feels like the anticipation might snap something within him, he feels blunt pressure and slick against his furled muscle. It pushes and burns. Jen isn’t stopping, he’s gasping and adjusting his angle, forcing it further until the head is buried in the clench of delicate velvet walls. Jen continues and Jared grits his teeth and holds his breath. Jen bottoms out with a groan and Jared throws his head to the side and strains against his ties as the cock that fills him slides back and he’s empty and wanting, begging for more even as he meets the over-eager, slamming stroke that takes his next breath away. Jared isn’t sure what is more erotic, the full ache and scrape that fills his hot channel and invades the spaces in his soul, or the lustful concentration and bliss expressed in Jen’s face with every trembling, purposeful twitch of muscle. 

This isn’t a porno, not even a teen movie. There’s nothing pretty or steady about this sex. There’s no magical formula that finds his prostate with every rocking motion but there are moments when the slightest brush over that sensitive place lights stars and fireworks and _fuck, fuck, fuck, please do it again_ sensation. Jensen’s rhythm falters and changes, there are moments of painful inaccuracy but Jared will take it all because this is everything he never knew he needed but was hollow without.

They lose themselves in the brutal pace of the slip and slide and when Jen’s fingers curl about the head of Jared’s cock, they rub at the slit and he’s unable to hold back any longer. He comes with blinding white intensity that shakes every nerve to the tip of his toes. There’s the hot splash of his own fluid on the curve of his belly, his muscles clench and squeeze the cock plunging deep into him and Jen’s coming too, there’s a sticky wet spurt bathing his tight channel and a loud cry that sounds like “Jaah.”

Jensen presses tight into him until he’s soft, seemingly unwilling to let go of the moment. Then he’s sliding his flaccid member out of Jared’s ass leaving an aching emptiness and trickling fluid. He’s smiling, giggling, his cheeks are bright red and he’s puffing air into busy lungs but he wastes no time in flinging himself down to latch his lips against Jared’s, to slide them sloppy over his, push his tongue into his mouth and explore the gums, teeth, tongue within. He pulls off when Jared is dizzy with exhaustion and lack of oxygen, nipping at his bottom lip and humming approval.

The top of the bed linen is soaked with their sweat and there’s a pooling patch of come drying sticky on the comforter. Jared pulls at his binds with cramping arms and Jensen wearily unties him and then collapses beside him. “mmm” he sighs.

“Mmhmm. Wow,” confirms Jared. He waits for Jensen to move, it won’t be easy to let him go back to his own space after the communion they just shared but he’s realistic about his lover’s limitations.

There’s another contented sigh beside him and Jen shuffles to lift the comforter, Jared lifts himself up so he can place it over the top of them both. Jensen lies flat on his back, side by side with Jared, but not quite touching, and reaches to grasp one of his hands. His fingers interlock with Jared’s and then his lashes are drooping, his eyelids closing. Jared is sated but he fights his natural exhaustion just for now, for these few moments, to revel in the intimacy of a shared bed. He turns on his side, to face Jensen and drifts to sleep to the vision of this sleeping man, with sweat shined skin, a pink glow, kiss swollen lips and mussed hair. Their hands remain entwined until morning.

A cab arrives early to take Jeff and Jared to the airport. It is bright yellow and highly visible. Jared clings to Jensen and Jensen stands stiffly in the embrace but allows him the comfort. Every detail has been plotted and examined but it feels like goodbye and Jared doesn’t want to go. Sadie licks drool over his hand and he wipes it on his pants with a “Eww,” and a laugh.

“We don’t have to involve Jensen,” says Jeff suddenly, “We can get Misha there and ask him. We’ve got him cold on the money laundering. Do we need more?”

Jared shakes his head, “We have to know. Somebody out there is trying to kill Jen. Someone set fire to Linden and is determined to ruin your life. Jen can’t spend the rest of his life not knowing if somebody out there is waiting to hurt him and I’m not condemning Misha to that, if it isn’t him.”

“If nothing happens, we still won’t know for sure.”

Jared sighs and his shoulders sag, “Misha took the bait awful easy. I think we should do this if Jen is in agreement.” 

‘I’m good,’ signs Jen.

Lorretta chooses the moment to come out of the kitchen. She flaps her arms to shoo Jeff and Jared to their taxi. “Misters Padalecki you will miss your flight. Now go. I am making pancakes for Mister Jensen and I don’t want them to burn. If you come home on time I will make my special moussaka.”

Jeff perks up at the thought, “That is every reason to make sure there are no delays Lorretta.”

Jensen watches until the cab is out of sight. He takes a shower and then returns to his studio room to dress. He stops in his tracks when he notices the easel, set up and facing him. There is a watercolour resting in its support. He steps softly to be beside it, to reach out and touch the colors. It has been painted quickly but with flow and passion. He recognizes himself, sleeping peacefully in his room, with Sadie stretched flat and snoozing by his side. There is movement implied in the shape and contour of the bright drapes that blow towards them. The moment could be any one of a number since Jensen has come to live with Jared. He is struck by the thought that Jared has studied him in his sleep, but the scene is one of tranquillity and belonging. He thinks the only thing that could have made it more perfect would be the inclusion of Jared himself. Jared’s signature graces the right hand corner and it is simply titled Home. There’s a note by its side in Jared’s looping scrawl,  _ don’t ever leave _ . It is the most precious present he has ever been given and he stares at it, calculating the number of every color until Lorretta’s call to breakfast forces his attention.   
  



	22. Chapter 22

Jeff and Jared’s cab turns from the freeway two junctions before the airport and the driver navigates busy morning traffic to place them at the empty development where concrete walls have still to be covered and timber remains unpainted. There’s no work being carried out here today. The contractors have called a work stoppage, their firm in disarray as invoices remain unpaid. It makes the site just right for Jim’s purposes and he busies himself with cables and instructions. They can only wait and hope that their absence from the book-in and flight isn’t noticed by Misha or his associates. Jared picks at his fingernails before employing his time dusting the surfaces of the furniture in the show apartment and laying out sales literature in a realistic pattern.

Lorretta has cleared the breakfast dishes and made the beds with a loud tutting noise and then gone home, leaving Jensen and Sadie alone. There’s a sense of unreality, or another reality, as the hands of the clock continue to move and Jensen knows it is nearly time. He checks his journal again and runs the pad of his finger over the plan. He’s not sure how he will get through this but he owes it to Josh, Jeff, Jared and Grandma Padalecki. Even Misha should have his chance to explain what he has done. 

The squeal of brakes announces the arrival of a yellow cab and he’s trembling with nerves because the hands of the clock haven’t yet reached the twelve, which means it is early. It isn’t supposed to be early. It’s the first stage in the plan and it’s already _wrong, wrong, wrong_. 

A door slams and the doorbell rings. Jensen grabs his rucksack and Sadie presses close to his side. He puts one foot in front of the other and he walks until he’s at the door. His fingers pull it open, to reveal a smile and deep blue eyes. Misha offers a soft, elegant hand. Jensen looks at it blankly and Misha moves it back to his side. “I’m Misha,” he announces, “but you already know that. Jared asked me to help out, but you already know that too. I thought you might be nervous about the cab ride so I came on over with it.” Misha stretches a hand to stroke Sadie and the dog backs up slightly with a curl to her lip. Jensen places a reassuring hand on her head. Misha beckons them both. 

Jensen freezes. He wants to run but he fakes a smile. With a single finger he indicates, one minute and then forces his limbs to move. He dashes back to his studio room, opens his journal and scribbles new words over the neat list he made the night before. He can do this. Doctor Singh said there would be days when he would have to make adjustments and that he would manage. He breathes deep, mentally numbers the colors of his drapes, and shuts his journal. He picks up the cell phone that Chris gave him. It is alien and confusing. He’s used the phone for texting once before, but he was calm that day. Today he is panicking and unsure and there is no time to find letters to form words. The contacts are in alphabetical order and Christian’s name is displayed on a reassuringly bright background. He presses send before returning to Misha with his new coat over his arm and his muted phone in its pocket. Jensen takes his time checking that the house is secure and sets the alarm. By the time he slams the front door closed the hands of the clock are in the right place. He trails behind Misha to the cab and the financial director holds the door open for him to get in.

Jared is pacing and Jeff curls his fist in annoyance. “Stand still!”

“It’s not like the floor will wear out.”

“It’s annoying.”

“So is your face.”

“Quit it you two, I’m trying to concentrate,” Ash snaps, without looking up from his laptop. 

The brothers turn speechless glares on the scrawny computer geek. He doesn’t even notice. “S’better,” he comments about the sudden silence.

Jared’s attention is diverted as his cell phone vibrates. He’s supposed to be mid-flight so he won’t be answering it but he pulls it from his pocket anyway. Christian’s number lights up and Jared frowns because there’s no good reason for the man to be calling him. He lets it ring off but a text arrives, “Answer asshole.” He ignores it. A minute or so later he gets another text, “Hurt Jen, I’ll hurt you.” Something is wrong.

He glances at Jeff and Ash, “I have to take this.” Jeff shakes his head in despair as Jared steps outside. 

Chris picks up on the first ring and there’s no stopping the tirade that assaults Jared’s ears. He waits for him to take a breath and then interrupts, “Jensen isn’t with me Chris. What the hell is up with you?”

“There’s no other explanation for it.”

“Calm down Chris! For what?”

“Don’t bullshit me. If I don’t like your explanation, my next call will be 911. I got two empty texts from Jen and then nothing. He’s not answering.”

In his peripheral view Jim is approaching him, his face is stone grey and lips are in a tense line. The taxi which had been organized for Jen had been pulled over and delayed by cops. Another taxi of the same color and model had picked up Jensen on time. The surveillance team hadn’t thought anything of it, until the correct car arrived. Ice strands travel Jared’s veins and squeeze at his heart. His world falls apart. 

Jim snatches the phone from him and is calmly speaking to Chris about the times of the texts and the details of Jen’s cell. Chris is persuaded not to call 911 for now. GPS is mentioned but nothing is making sense. He hears Jim stress the word danger and there’s a mild threat made to Chris. Then they are on speaker phone, Jim and Ash are both talking to Chris and he seems to be co-operating. The security tape for Jared’s house is silently playing back and everything seems to stop for a moment as they find a sketchy view of the driver who called for Jensen. 

“Whoa there,” exclaims Jim.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters.

“Fucking crazy-ass bastard!” Jared says, turning sheet-white when he recognizes Misha's silhouette with his face hidden from the security cameras.

Minutes stretch into infinity and there’s no indication of hope. “I have to go.” Jared can’t wait. He is striding to the door. He has to look, has to find Jen. Jeff catches a hold of him and swings him back against the wall. “What are you going to do? Where will you go? Idiot. Jim’s got this.”

“Jim shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“At least wait till he’s got Jen back, and he will Jay. He will find them.” Jeff is trying to sound convincing but his voice trembles.

“Fuck it!” The fight goes out of Jared and he sinks to the cold concrete floor with his hand in his head. “I told Jim not to tail Misha in case it spooked him. We’re following his known associates and instead Misha waltzes straight in?  I didn’t think…Why would he do this? He’s not a stone-cold killer. He can’t be? Jeff? Surely he wouldn’t?”

“He might not be anything we’re accusing him of. Maybe they’re on the way over right now, telling frightful tales about you.” 

“You don’t really believe that?”

Jeff doesn’t answer.

There’s a victorious crow from Ash, “Got it!” and he gives a route and direction.

There’s an “OK” from Chris and then, “But there’s nothing out there, just the railroad.” There’s a pause and then, “Shit. I’m closer than you. Going.” There’s no more from him.

Jim’s out of the door, holstering a gun as he moves. He points at Jared and Jeff, “Wait here!”  

As soon as Jim’s back is turned Jared pats down a protesting Ash for his car keys and extracts them from his jeans pocket to a loud, “No!”  

Ash watches them produce a cloud of rubber smoke as Jared wheel spins his beloved car onto the main street, “I better get a pay rise for this, bitches!” he yells after them.

There’s something scraping Jensen’s knees and the pressure on his neck and shoulders doesn’t let up. His arms ache and his hands are fixed behind his back. He’s trapped and hazy and panicking. He wants to scream but nothing comes out. Cloth stuffs his mouth and there’s only one color, black, _0000_ , no number, no comfort. The constraint is too much. He squeezes his eyes, but there are still no colors to distract him. His heart thuds against his ribs and he gasps, unable to breathe. The pressure ceases and he falls in a heap, to sharp, stony ground. 

“Don’t tell me you can’t even die right.” The words whisper in a terrifyingly cheerful voice, over his ear, “Tell you what, here’s an incentive,” there’s the brush of warm fur on his fingers and a whimper from Sadie, _don’t touch Sadie you sick son of a bitch_ , “You do as you’re told and Sadie won’t go freight hopping with you. I’ll find her a warm shelter somewhere. Of course you’re not going to land your jump on the train, so if you care about her, you should consider my offer. Take your time, there’s a few minutes until the next train is due.”

He can’t be here. It isn’t supposed to happen. The rocking starts but even that is restricted by ties and hands. He checks out.

Katie drives, she tries to remove the baseball bat from Chris’ hand but he won’t let go. He’s yelling instructions and she’s speeding fit to lose her license. There’s a truck yard by the railroad and sometimes hobos will freight hop the short distance between a parked truck and one on the main tracks, as the trains slow for the points. It’s a long shot but she screeches the tires of the van in a sharp right turn between the crossing and the tracks. Grit tears up behind them as she rides rough in the tight space to the yard and pulls up the van with a cloud of dirt when the shiny criss-cross of tracks prevents any further progress.  

Jim’s SUV skids into the opposite end of the yard and Chris has his cell phone on blue tooth, talking to him. “Stay here!” Chris orders Katie but she gives him a hard stare and tells him to, “Fuck off, he’s my friend too.”

By the main railroad there are cattle carts, stretching for what seems like miles. Each has a sliding door that faces the live track. Some cars have a gaping space with the door wide open, others are closed. Chris throws the baseball bat to Katie. “Here!” and then they split up, stalking down the line to peer into each of them.

Metal buzzes with the vibration of a distant train and Christian catches sight of a movement three cars from where he’s standing. He’s running fast, only sparing a moment to indicate for Katie to move flat against the cars in the yard. There will barely be any room for safety between the stationary trucks and the speeding mass of freight when it passes. He grasps the side of the freight container door and swings up, but Misha’s fist is already there. He takes a knock on the chin that unbalances him, but he’s still coming. He’s bulkier than Misha and street-fit. The air is full of the thick smell of diesel and dust and there’s a rhythmic clatter that accompanies the vibration of the line. 

Misha is twirling a knife, letting it glint in the light. He is hauling Jen half standing, half slumped in front of him and there is no room for Chris to make a mistake. His friend is blindfolded and there’s no indication that he is conscious. Misha uses Jen as a shield, dragging him to the place where daylight streams in and dust is swirling in the sunlight. In the distance a snaking train has appeared. Misha raises the knife to show Christian and then brings it behind Jen, sawing at the ropes that bind his hands. He rips off the blindfold and Jen’s eyes don’t open. 

Jen is boneless and heavy in Misha’s hands and he’s being shuffled to the very edge of the doorway, Misha’s blue eyes meet Christian’s, “Happens all the time, unfortunate accidents when hobos try to catch a free ride.” 

There’s a noise like thunder that drowns out the rattle of the tracks and all speech and thought. Wind whips through Jensen’s hair and his eyes dart open, wide and terrified. There are strong, lean arms reaching over the ledge of the car and there’s a confusion of limbs. A tall form with wild brunette hair dives on Jensen, propelling him backwards, into safety and the dark corner of the wagon. 

Misha flails. Jared is shielding Jen in the corner of the freight car and Misha has Christian’s wrath to contend with if he wants to get to them. He hits out at Christian before staggering after the bodies strewn on the floor. A line of dark crimson appears and drips blood from Christian’s arm with a piercing hot pain, and he curses Misha’s knife. The light is blocked by a noisy blur which passes within yards of them with a rapid cha-chunk, cha-chunk, cha-chunk over the points. Christian leaps on Misha’s back and they are rolling and struggling for dominance. Chris has Misha’s wrist and is banging it on the surface of the car to make him drop the blade, but Misha shuffles and crawls, pulling away and then he’s gone, falling from the edge of their car as the last container of the speeding freight train passes by, leaving a rush of thick grit in the air and a fading cha-chunk, cha-chunk behind it. 

For Jensen there is just the black, then there’s air like a hurricane and noise like a book, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can,” Jen opens his eyes and there’s a void to fall into and heavy death that speeds too fast to capture its colors. He doesn’t like this reality. It doesn’t last, hands seem to come from nowhere, clutch at him and knock him into bruises and an echoing floor. He thinks there will be purples and reds, blues and yellows and aching pain but right now he’s being held down, uninvited. Nobody has the right and this time his hands are free. He pulls back his arm, flexes his fist and closes his eyes as knuckles connect with muscular abs and the person rolls off him with an “oof,” followed by, “Shit, Jen! Cavalry here!” in Jared’s familiar and warm tone.  They roll together until they are backed up on the rear wall of the freight car. Sadie is here, lying drugged, whimpering and muzzled. Jared looms over them both, blocking all light, with his arms and legs starfish-splayed and body protective. Jen is frantic. He hits out and kicks at this new confinement. There’s a sharp cry as his feet connect with Jared’s shins but the big man is immoveable. 

“Ow, ow, ouch. Kick all you like, but I’m not letting him near you, Jen.”

Jen’s head dips into his hands. The rocking starts. 

Christian cautiously peers over the edge of the car, at the gap between the tracks. There’s a man running, he’s almost reached their car. His sheer size and his features are unmistakably Padalecki. Misha is on his hands and knees spitting blood and dirt, trying to get up. Christian thinks about jumping down after him but he’s reeling from shock and his first priority has to be Jen.

Jared has somehow managed to entirely cover Jensen’s rocking form. He’s like a mother hen with her wings out, and the comparison is so ridiculous that Christian’s hysterical laughter gathers and bursts from his chest. “Dude. Crazy person is gone. I think your brother has him.”

Jared gradually relaxes but Chris is not looking friendly. He’s almost relieved when Katie’s voice cuts through the air, shouting and swearing.

“Stay with Jen!” Chris instructs, before vaulting to the ground. 

Katie has the baseball bat raised for a home-run swing. Misha is being held by the collar of his shirt and systematically beaten by Jeff’s huge fists. His face is a mess of purple, black and red swelling and dripping blood. What damage is under his clothes he can only imagine. Chris reaches out and grabs at the huge stranger, but he can’t haul his weight with his damaged arm. A solid punch to his chin seems to make no difference. “Bastard! Katie, hit him! Just, not on his head.”

Katie smacks the wooden club into Jeff’s arm and Chris manages to get purchase to separate them. He collapses back with Jeff heavy on top of him and Misha by his side. Katie stands over them all, bat raised in a double handed hold, “Don’t even think of moving, fuckers!”

Jim rolls up in characteristically laid back form and holsters his gun, “I would have lent a hand but I could see you had it under control. I hate to involve firearms where they’re not necessary.” Chris considers punching this new arrival, but Katie still has the baseball bat. He groans, “I’m going to need some solid explanations.” 

Katie wiggles the bat in her hands, “And a frickin’ huge donation to the shelter if you want this kept quiet.” Everyone turns their head to her. Even Misha looks up, shocked. She flexes her arms, “Try me!” she says with intent, and Chris gives her a thumbs up. 

“I’m sure Jared can arrange that. For now you should go to his house, with Jen, until we’re sure this is all over. There is security there,” Jim is speaking to Katie and Christian. He’s already on the move. So far there have been no witnesses but they shouldn’t stay long.

Jared gently maneuvers Jen into Ash’s car and there’s a strained atmosphere while he drives them to his home. Jen curls in the corner of the back seat, taking far less room than anybody could think possible for his size. He’s not communicating and won’t look at anybody but at least he has stopped rocking and trying to bang his head. Chris sits next to Jen and Katie glowers silently at Jared from the passenger seat. Sadie squashes into the foot well beside Jen and rests her snout unsteadily on his leg. She’s obviously been drugged but she’s beginning to waken. Jared thinks Ash is gonna be pissed because there’s dog vomit on the edge of the seat and on the carpet.

Chris keeps darting him angry looks and Jared thinks about the accusations he’s made.

“Chris, did Jen ask for your help learning to say something?”

“Oh, yeah!” the look Chris gives from the back seat is venomous.

“Did he explain anything about it?”

“He didn’t need to.”

Jared nods, understanding why Chris feels the way he does, “Figures,” he says, watching him in the rear view mirror. “That forgiveness? It was for something I did when I was a teenager. I was an asshole and it was appalling but it wasn’t deliberate. I would never hurt him now, in any way.”

“Just being involved with you seems to be enough,” Chris speaks bitterly.

“This is the end of it. I’ll make sure of it. You can keep me to that promise. Jeff can sleep on the couch, I don’t mind if one of you wants to stay in the spare bedroom until you're satisfied he’s okay.”

“If he doesn’t want to stay with you?” Chris is calmer now.

“If he doesn’t want to stay with me, then we will find somewhere suitable for him, and make sure he’s alright. Money isn’t an object.”

Jared pulls into his drive and kills the engine. He turns to look Chris in the eye. Chris holds out his hand to him, “Shake on it.”

Jared does. 

  


 


	23. Chapter 23

The housing development is already set up for their private purposes. Jim has no compunction in returning there with Misha. 

Misha looks like the train hit him but he’s conscious and can speak through thick lips.

Jim let’s Jared ask the questions, the tall man is surprisingly calm but it belies the hurt that twists and coils painfully within him.  “Why? Why would you want to kill Jen?”

“If you want a job done properly, do it yourself.  I paid good money for a failure.” Misha sounds bitter.

“But why would you even want to?”

Misha snorts and shakes his head, “He spies on us. Everything goes in his little black book.”

“I can’t figure it out Mish. What could he write in his book that would be so terrible? This isn’t you. You don’t hurt people.”

Misha looks exasperated, “It’s you I’m protecting. He’s nothing and you wouldn’t miss him, not after the first shock, the same as Josh. You thought Josh was everything but you didn’t need him, you forgot about him soon enough. Jen is going to hurt Padalecki, hurt you, there are things he ….” Misha trails off, as if he’s only just remembering there are things Jared and Jeff don’t know. He changes mid-sentence “You can’t see it. You never do. You let them. You let your Pa beat you, taunt you and disown you. You let your brother beat you up repeatedly and you would let that trailer trash ruin you and your business. Someone has to be there for you. Someone has to stop it all for you. You’re not strong enough.”

“Why would Jen hurt me?”

Misha strains at the ropes tying him and glares at Jim, before replying, “Jen’s not good for you. He’s obsessed with you. He has a hold over you, has done ever since kindergarten. Whenever he was there, it was like there was nobody else in the room. You excluded everyone but him. Once you met him in the gardens it started all over again. Your attention strays to him constantly. It wasn’t healthy in kindergarten and it isn’t healthy now. He’s street vermin and he knows what you did at Becks, I am sure of it. What is he waiting for?”

“You’re jealous!” Jared’s mouth gapes at the realization. He shakes his head and speaks sadly, “He is the only person in my life who doesn’t have his own agenda for me. He is the only one who has ever questioned what I want. I have to ask myself every day if I am good enough for him. I love you Misha, you were my best friend and my comrade in arms, I would have done anything for you but I can’t let this go. You are destroying my blood brother and what could be my one chance at true love. Do you not get how much I love Jensen? My obsession with him makes his with me look mild in comparison.”

“No, no. You’re wrong. There will be others, more suitable.”

“Did you think that when you taped the vents at Becks?”

“I did it for you. I didn’t want to see you hurt by Ackles.”

Jared closes his eyes. Tries to will away the pain of knowing. “I thought you knew me. I don’t want suitable, I never did. What we did to Josh and Cindy hurts me, every day of my life. You damaged me more than anyone else could, and you were going to do it again. I can’t...” tears glisten in his eyes and he turns his back on his old friend to wipe at them. “Ash,” he prompts quietly, and the computer expert steps forward.

Jeff steps forward with Ash, he’s cradling his arm as he speaks. “When you were away we made some adjustments to the company accounts. You might like to take a look at the new arrangements. As you can see, we found considerable and erroneous sums of money for stock we never sold. We thought we should close those regular payments, stop them coming through.” 

Misha goes deathly pale as Ash scrolls through the figures. 

Jeff continues, “Since it doesn’t belong to us, it seemed wrong to hold on to it, but we puzzled about where to put it. The sort of person who sneaks such large sums of cash through a business is the sort of person who will be very angry when the money doesn’t turn up where it is expected.”

“You can’t just stop. Jared! Listen! You can’t. They’ll destroy you.”

“Then why did my best friend invite them in Misha? Why would you do that?”

Misha blows out a breath. This time when he speaks it is contrite, pleading, “I had to give them some reason to let me come here. I saw what your Pa did, and you needed help Jared, you have to know you did. Padalecki Inc. is your rightful inheritance. You were the only one who truly deserved it and I’m right, you’re good at it. If I hadn’t been here, you would have let it defeat you. Turned it in, gone back to your pokey little gallery.”

“I loved my gallery.” Jared raises his voice in angry retort, there’s a part of him that still burns at the loss of his old life.

“Maybe, but it was small time, small business, not worthy of you.” Frustration is evident in Misha’s tone.

Jared leans in until he’s speaking, only inches from Misha’s face and speaks passionately, “I was happy!” 

“Here you’re successful and in control.”

“Maybe I am successful, but to retain control of Padalecki Inc. I have to pretend to be somebody else. I can never relax and I’m _not_ happy to be that way. You are supposed to be my friend. I thought you knew me enough to know that.” 

“I know you better than you know yourself, Jay. Everybody wants to be the winner, the top dog.”

“Winning in business isn’t the same as succeeding in life, Misha.” There isn’t anger in Jared’s statement, instead it is full of pity. “So why bring dirty money with you? Why risk taking me down and sending us to jail?”

Misha looks small and broken, “You don’t say no to these people. Collins didn’t have the golden touch that Padalecki had. We were in debt years before I finished college and my father would have lost the entire business. He asked for help and we got it all, money, development and success but it came at a price. We have been laundering money for years and I have made that possible. I had to. Otherwise people die or disappear, their families have accidents. You don’t understand. They don’t ever let you go. You needed help and the only way they would let me move to this business was at a price. It’s not much. Not really. I couldn’t let Jeff destroy you the way your Pa did. Jeff will never stop hurting you. You know that, don’t you? It’s why Linden should have been so perfect. The dispute was ended, Ackles should have been dead before you ever noticed his existence and Jeff would go to jail, unable to touch you or take Padalecki Inc. from you.”

Jared puts out a hand to lean on the table, the latest truth has him unbalanced and dizzy. “I’m not a child any more. I grew up. I have my own hopes and dreams. I can stand on my own two feet. I’m an artist. I want to try for a life with Jensen, one that isn’t about power or business or money. That is my ambition. I don’t need you to keep ambitions for me, Misha. Where did your own hopes and dreams go?”

“My future was decided the day my father made his deal.”

Jared shakes his head, “You’re wrong.”

There is an all-pervading silence. Jeff is looking at Jared with surprise and some other, unnameable emotion, and then at Misha with incredible sadness.

Misha begs, directly to Jared, “What are you going to do with me Jared? You can’t kill me. You couldn’t. I know you.”

“We won’t need to Misha. There are others who will do that for us. Tell me something though. What will I say to Alona when you’re gone?  Did you ever care for her, or were you with her for access to my life, my business and my keys?”

For the first time genuine tears pool and drip from Misha’s ocean-blue eyes and Jared can see his regret for the loss of what could have been. He doesn’t need to hear the answer. He walks through the door, leaving Jim, Jeff and Ash to do their work. He will watch the monitor and listen to the audio but he cannot stay in the same space as this stranger.

Jim takes over efficiently, “This is how it is going to work sunshine. You see those freshly revised accounts? Well, the Padalecki server is down and will stay offline for as long as I tell Ash to leave it that way. I am taking a hot guess, but I would say that once the server goes live, it is only a matter of hours before somebody notices their money is missing. You tell us what we need to know, to put every little thing right, and for every new piece of information, I will tell Ash to leave the server off-line for another hour. Give me the names of your acquaintances and leverage to keep them away and I’ll get you more time on top of that. If you are co-operative, and very, very, lucky, then you might get a head start to find somewhere to duck your head.”

Misha sneers at him, “It’s Padalecki they’ll come after.”

“Oh! We don’t think so. It seems you kept your dirty money a dirty secret.” Misha opens his mouth to argue but closes it, without speaking as Ash toggles another page onto the screen.  Jim continues, “There is only one person at Padalecki who could have worked this scam,” Ash scrolls through some more documents and then shows Misha another screen, “It would be the person who has access to the Antiguan Bank Account that all the money was diverted into. It was ideal. Apparently, you stole from your crooked acquaintances and you stole from Padalecki Incorporated. Bravo. You’re a master criminal,” Jim claps slowly.

“Oh, God! That’s not possible. You’re bluffing. Where? How did you find that?”

“The documentation was in your filing cabinet, and your home is not as secure as you would hope. Does it matter? You won’t be returning there. Misha, you can go anywhere. You are an extremely rich man. That is, assuming you can get to the money before your associates.”

“I can’t. I have no idea how I would run.”

“Better start thinking about it, boy!” Jim mocks him and the horror on Misha’s face is undeniable. Jeff looks devastated. He leaves the room to search out Jared.

The brothers stand together, miles apart, in the room that adjoins Jim’s temporary interrogation chamber.

Jeff speaks quietly. He looks as if he may break, “I didn’t know how much it meant to you, your gallery and your art. I should have left you out of the business.”

“Pa would have pulled me back whatever the case. Every time he threatened to deny my inheritance, I rolled over. He did it to get me out of art school and into ‘proper’ education, and if I’d been less of a wimp he might not have done it again. Maybe I needed all of this to learn who I need to be. It hasn’t been a complete bust, I found Jen.  Promise me something though,”

“What?”

“Whatever the outcome for the business at the two year marker, I will stay to smooth transitions, then I will walk away and you will find somebody new to head up Padalecki Inc. I know someone who will be incredible for the job.” Jared pokes Jeff in the chest with his forefinger.

“You know it doesn’t matter what the result is at that meeting. You won’t go away with nothing. I’m your brother, not a complete douche.” Jeff looks at the floor and scuffs his foot in the plaster dust, “Actually, scratch that, I am a douche. I caused some of this mess. Misha is right.” 

Jared knits his brow, “How? What is Misha right about?”

“I always get angry, I always hurt you. I am doing what Pa did to you and I say I’m sorry. I promise it’s the last time and then I do it again,” Jeff bites at his lip and fiddles with the keys in his pocket. “I did it to Lacey. She didn’t like being humiliated with the public news of my affair, but she’s happy I’m gone. I have to stop it. I have to get help.”

Jensen doesn’t notice Jared arriving home that night. He drifts in his own world. Christian tells Jared to give him time and settles in to sleep on the couch. Sadie has had the muzzle removed and the drugs are out of her bloodstream but she shies at every sound and wraps herself tight around Jensen’s legs. 

Jeff and Jared move like satellites around each other, never touching and barely looking at each other. 

Jensen waits for the ebony, star-shine and moon and lists numbers in his head. There are vivid, hot colors of fire, clashing colors of pain and blood, blackened colors of violence and deceit. There are other numbers too; the soothing colors of Jared’s paintings, cheerful IKEA drapes and sparkling Venetian-glass vases. There are colors, without numerical definition; Jared’s changeable multi-hued eyes, his dimples and the silky brown shimmer of his unruly hair. He thinks he loves those colors best.  He has an underlying awareness that he is safe. Familiar voices float past him and he has a warm drink. He still waits for the night and for sleep to come.

_ Night is a reset button and when day comes, Jensen’s world returns. When the sun comes up Jensen is ready to make a new plan with Jared._

By 7:00 a.m. the next Monday, Jensen’s body cuts through cool, chlorinated water. His strokes are smooth and even, his pace never alters and there’s no suggestion of breathlessness. He swims exactly twenty lengths, climbs the ladder and exits. 

At 7:25 a.m. Jensen leaves the changing room, with his head bowed, walks through the corridor, until he reaches the glass door of the gym. He looks up and sideways to where a giant of a man with shaggy brunette hair runs on a treadmill. He has his back to the entrance and is singing enthusiastically but tunelessly to his iPOD. Jensen watches Jared with pride. He moves in to plant a brief, dry kiss on his lips and walks out, leaving him with a surprised smile and increased pace.

Jensen says, “Hi,” to a startled Chad. He shines the sinks of the men’s room and empties the trash for him. Jared joins him after, and they walk through the bus station. Jensen picks up fifty cents which he tosses into a busker’s cap, and Sadie scarfs up a squashed egg sandwich from the floor.

When they finally make it to his spot, at eight on the civic clock, Jensen’s heart pulses steady.  He grabs Jared around his waist and pulls him close for a deep, wet and noisy kiss before letting him go. There’s a smatter of applause from Kim and Alona who happen to be arriving at the same time. He places a blanket on the grass for Sadie, sets up his easel and palette and watches his boyfriend as Jared climbs the steps, smiles at the doorman and lets the door close gently behind himself. The sun catches the glint of shiny letters above a busy city street; **Padalecki Incorporated.**  

Sophia is delighted to see Jensen and Jared at lunchtime. They go to the greasy spoon and Jensen teaches them to swear in sign language before Sophia gets Jensen to practise speaking the word “fuck”.

Jared leaves work at 5:30 p.m. When he gets home Jensen is sitting ready with his journal to make a new plan. Jared’s bedroom is almost unrecognizable. Bright drapes hang in a rainbow over his bedroom windows and rag rugs are strewn on the floor. Sadie’s cushion is by the side of Jared’s huge bed and Jen’s clothes are in the closet. In the rest of the house the IKEA bed has been dismantled and the studio has reverted to a place for canvases, paints and inks. Christian has left a message on Jared’s phone, “Dude. Jen’s got plans for you tonight and I ain’t sticking around for that.”

On Thursday, Jared takes the coffee from Alona’s hand and carefully places it on the desk. He drags a box of tissues to the corner of the desk and supports her until she is sitting.

“I’m so sorry, Al.”

Her eyes are brimming with tears, her nose is red and blotchy, her chest is beginning to heave and she’s making little squeaking noises as she begins to break down.

“What did you do?” She shoves at him as she shouts, “It’s always you and your poison.”

“I didn’t. There was nothing anyone could do.”

She’s trying to absorb the news report but all she can see are the words plane crash, explosion, fireball and no survivors. She can’t imagine the fear, the heat and the pain that Misha must have suffered but it doesn’t stop her mind from dwelling on it. She’s sobbing, fat tears rolling over pale cheeks and it almost escapes her attention that Jared’s cheeks are wet too. “I don’t understand. He never said he was going. Why would he go to the Caribbean without telling me?” 

“I don’t have the answers Al, he was working hard. He needed a rest, some time to think.”

“What do I do?” Alona looks lost.

“You should take some time. We can cope here.”

She wails, a ghastly, grieving sound, “Time to do what? I have no-one to share it with. What do I do? Feed his fish?” she babbles, “They’ll be hungry. He won’t want his fish to starve. There’s food in the kitchen, I can do that, can’t I?”

“Go, feed his fish. Have you got someone we can contact, your sister or your mother?”

“My sister.”

Jared puts strong warm arms around her and pulls her into a hug. She bunches her hands into his jacket and cries into his shirt, leaving a large dark patch, while his tears drip on the top of her head. “He’s gone,” she says in a weak, disbelieving voice.

“He’s gone. I’m sorry, Al.”

Alona thinks her heart will never mend.

The week after Misha’s death a scandal breaks on the local news. Two police officers and a forensics expert are arrested on suspicion of evidence tampering. All the cases they were working on are dismissed, including the Linden arson investigation. Detective Pearson visits to deliver the news with an informal apology. Jeff moves out of Jared’s house and Jared calls it home for the first time in years, or maybe home is Jen who becomes a quiet presence there.

There is a memorial service for Misha and there is no casket. The shattered pieces of plane sank to the bottom of a shark infested ocean and there was nothing of Misha to find. A parent should not have to grieve the loss of their child, Mr. and Mrs. Collins cry and thank Misha’s friends for coming. They reserve a special handshake for Jared and he cannot hide from the flash of suspicion in their eyes.

When year end results are published for Padalecki Inc. there is a marginal profit and a strong market position. There is no champagne. Instead, the moment is marked with donations to the local shelter for the homeless and Jared is pictured cheerfully manning the soup van with Chris and Katie. For once it isn’t a publicity gimmick.

For the press there are rumors of a regular boyfriend in Jared Padalecki’s life and it is newsworthy for a while. The man is tall, handsome and photogenic, with gorgeous green eyes, and they make a beautiful couple. There are some rags to riches stories printed until a serious journalist crushes the romantic notions of countless schoolgirls. The journalist for The Pink Blaze reveals that the couple lived in the same town went to school together and, in actual fact, Jensen is wealthy in his own right. If she glossed over any details then that is offset by Jared’s donation to her favorite charity and a promise that there will be a wedding for her to attend. Jensen remains generally unaware of the media frenzy, even before it dies down to a manageable level.

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

Six months after Misha's funeral, Alona packs her last item in a cardboard box and tapes the lid. Jared slides his name plate from the door and Alona picks up her own name marker from her empty desk and throws it in the trash.

The CEO’s office is bare, dismantled and dusted. His P.A.’s space matches it.

“You know you don’t have to leave. You’re the best administrator that Padalecki has ever had.”

Alona gives a wry smile, “You could have told me that once in a while.”

“You know you’d have hated the fuss.” Jared smiles fondly and she elbows him in the ribs. He asks, “What will you do?”

“I’m going to travel. I’ve been invited to this place that a dear friend of mine owns. It’s a perfect retreat, off the beaten track, in a remote village of Antigua. Maybe you’ll visit sometime.”

Jared snaps his face up to catch her eye but she slides her gaze to one side and smiles enigmatically. “You can do something for me,” she hands him a set of keys. “Someone needs to give Misha’s aquarium a good home. You can collect it any time.”

“Jared.” The voice is gravelly, low and sexy. The brunette businessman turns to greet its owner with a wide, dimpled smile and shining hazel eyes, “Hey, Jen.” 

Alona has a smile for the tall, freckled man who leans on the door frame and wears his designer suit like it was fitted just for his form, “Hi, Jensen. How’s the boss treating Padalecki’s new financial wizard?”

Jensen looks serious as he considers the question, “I can’t do magic but Jeff’s good to me.”

“Jen’s been given a dark cave of his own with a ‘Beware of the Dog’ sign on the door,” jokes Jared. It’s not far from the truth. Jeff has come to value Jensen’s financial genius. There have been several key alterations to Padalecki Inc.’s employment policies to make life easier for differently-abled workers, and he defends Jen’s need for personal space with Sadie at his feet. If Claire in Accounts gets offended by Jensen’s offer to paint a nude of her husband, then she obviously can’t appreciate a compliment.

Alona winds her arms around Jared, surprising him with a brief hug, “Well, good luck with your gallery. Try not to be an asshole to your manager.”

“I’m mellow these days,” Jared retorts. He gives a wave as she disappears down the corridor. The elevator doors announce her departure with a ting.  

Jensen waits until Alona has gone. It is quiet and this is the first time that he has been in Jared’s office. Jensen has never wanted to meet his lover here, because it is a place that has squeezed the joy and creativity from Jared. Jensen thinks there is a new hope in the room now that it is empty. It stands neutralized, ready for someone with enthusiasm and vitality. He thinks they should repaint it to reflect its fresh optimism, “ _12-0825 Popcorn TC_ ,” he says as he thinks it. 

“Pale yellow. Yeah that would be a good color for this office, especially in sunlight,” agrees Jared without a pause. 

Jensen steps across the threshold and closes the door with a hungry stare at his boyfriend. He throws his journal onto Alona’s empty desk and inhales deep. There’s the smell of printer ink and carpet cleaner, polish and Jared’s aftershave. He stretches his arms wide and trails his fingers along the walls and the dark wood of the shelving. He feels their temperature and texture, then he’s inhaling again and spinning slowly, arms still held wide, revelling in the scent of Jared that encompasses him from every corner of this space. He stops when his head is reeling and the colors of the room spin and merge into mathematical formulae. He grips hold of the smooth and newly empty surface of Jared’s desk and he can feel the energy it has absorbed from him. He strokes the surface lovingly and assesses its height and width and suitability, because _goddamn fuck_ if all this Jared that surrounds him doesn’t make him as horny as hell. Since Jeff moved out of the house there is not a surface there that Jensen hasn’t fucked Jared on. Sure, there’s the gallery to explore but this is the last opportunity for this desk in this particular office. He beckons Jared with a curl of his forefinger, and the skin around his sparkling green eyes crinkles as he smiles.

Jared sashays towards him with the wickedest dirty grin that deepens his dimples and brings a pink flush to his cheeks. He lets Jen reel him in by his tie and grip his face to kiss him lewd and wet. “You are so socially inappropriate,” Jared rasps affectionately, as his neck is being nuzzled, with sharp nips bruising a pattern in his skin. “and so HOT. Don’t you ever stop!”

Deft fingers loosen Jared’s tie, unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants to pull them down to his ankles. There’s wet suction and sharp teeth toying with Jared’s nipple and the brunette throws his head back as he draws sharp breath. There are acres of golden, smooth flesh revealed in the movement, and it all belongs to Jensen. It is all his to caress and adore, or torture and tease. Jared’s arms hang loose at his sides but Jensen knows he is itching to move them, to touch with them. Jared has learned self control but he has told Jensen how much it torments him to wait like this. There was a time when it was the only way Jensen could cope with their intimacy, but time and constant close contact is eroding the discomfort of Jared initiating touch and hugs. Jensen is getting used to it. In some small way he is beginning to anticipate and appreciate it. 

Jared is rock hard and his eyes are glazed, “Please,” he begs.

Jensen reaches into Jared’s boxers to grip his cock and squeeze at it before he takes pity on him. He places his palm flat against Jared’s chest and pushes him down onto a wheeled chair. It rolls a little as Jensen straddles Jared in it. He loosens his own tie and pulls it over his head before breathing hot into the shell of Jared’s ear, “buttons,”

Jared’s hands tremble with excitement as he lifts them to Jensen’s chest to unfasten his shirt. Long fingers brush the freckled skin delicately as he works, sending jolts of intense sensation up Jensen’s spine to travel and gather and pool in the base of his groin, filling and engorging him until his cock is straining at his pants, a suitable match for his lover’s erect member. Jared pleads prettily and Jen lets him release it, he arches his back and hisses with pleasure as Jared runs fingers expertly up the vein and around the head. He squeezes _all wrong and just right_ and cups his balls.

There’s an urgency driving their actions. “Lube,” instructs Jensen and Jared obediently produces a tube from the depths of a pocket on his discarded jacket. Jensen insists that he always carry some, just in case, and Jared never objects. There’s a cold and wonderful slide and slip as Jared’s nimble fingers slick Jensen’s cock. He groans with the ecstasy of it. “So good,” he mutters and Jared smiles at the praise. Jensen stands up and offers his hand to his lover. He pulls Jared up and spins him around by the same hand, to slam him hard against the desk and bend him over it. He gives a sharp slap to each of the enticing ass cheeks, just to hear the satisfying noise of his hand hitting the firm flesh and see the raised, red handprint it produces. There’s a number that goes with the color but he hopes he never blurts it out during sex. He’s sure that would be a little wrong. Perhaps not more wrong than fucking in a public place, and they’ve done that, but wrong nevertheless.

He should stop thinking. He clears his mind of everything but the glorious body that is offered up for him to take. Just looking gives him a myriad of sensations that make him tremble. He slaps Jared’s ass one more time, to revel in the sharp crack that echoes from the walls of the empty office, and the groan of pain/pleasure it elicits from Jared. When he can’t take the agony of anticipation any longer, he slots himself between Jared’s legs and nudges the head of his cock against the puckered muscle. He pushes in and bottoms out in one fast and powerful thrust and there’s a low moan from Jared, with his face pressed to the cool wood of the desk. Jen takes his silk tie and balls it up before forcing Jared’s mouth open and stuffing it in.  “Sshh,” he reminds him. 

Jensen wastes no more time. He fucks Jared hard and fast. It is balls deep and teasingly shallow, it’s rough and smooth, circling the rim and plunging right in. It is fireworks exploding into so many colors he thinks he may drown in a sea of numbers. Jared grunts and drools around the bundle of fabric and Jensen mews and whimpers as he works up a sheen of sweat, rolling his hips to brush his thick cock against the nerve endings that make Jared thrash and squirm with delight. He reaches around as he feels his balls tighten and he comes with a blinding, overwhelming, fantastic, _yes, yes, holy fuck yes!_ There are the wet hot ropes of come that spurt from Jared’s dick and coat his fingers. Jensen falls boneless over the body bent across the desk and licks a stripe from the back of his lover’s ear to the top of his spine. It is salty and sweaty, all Jared and delicious. “Mmm,” he mutters, “I love you, Jared.”

They still schedule time to talk every day, and there’s a note in Jensen’s journal that reminds him to tell Jared, every day, in words, that he loves him. It never makes the words any less special. Jared turns to give him a kiss. He holds Jensen’s face with incredible care and slides his lips slowly and carefully over the plush pink of Jensen’s lips. He doesn’t push or crowd. It’s sweet and gentle and erotic with a dry kiss to a dozen of the freckles on his nose at the end. It represents every gentle thing that Jensen adores about Jared. “I fucking love you so much Jen.” Jared looks at him, through dark lashes, and his foxy hazel eyes glimmer with gold flecks. The moment is absolutely perfect. If there’s a color for it, then it hasn’t been discovered yet.

They get dressed in a hurry. Jensen puts his journal on the top of Jared’s box and it slips to the floor as the box tilts. It lands open and askew, and Jared thinks to ask a question that has been bothering him for a long time. “Jen, why did you never put me on your list of friends?”

Jensen looks at him as if it is obvious and Jared is somewhat dim for asking, “You are more than a friend. I don’t need a list for what you are, because you’re the only one.”

“Oh!” It was that simple all along.

They’re sloppily dressed, sweaty, sticky and flushed when they carry Jared’s cardboard box of belongings from the office. It is probably the worst time to discover that all the employees in the building have been waiting to surprise Jared. There are Good Luck banners and bubbly wine, cards and gifts and a huge stack of rainbow cakes topped with Nana’s rainbow frosting. 

“Oh God!” Jared curls his face into Jensen’s shoulder in embarrassment, and Jensen lets him. 

Jared recovers in a moment and Jensen steps back from the crowd. The doorman finds him a quiet space behind the reception counter, where Sadie is already curled up waiting for him and licking colorful frosting from her snout. Jensen watches Jared from afar, as he’s done so many times before.

Jared basks in the attention. He jokes, smiles and thanks everyone for their hard work and good wishes, but he glances up and over at Jensen to check that he is okay. Jen acknowledges him from his safe haven and his right hand moves from his chin as he signs, ‘I’m good.’

When everyone has had their say and shaken Jared’s hand, he beckons for Jensen to join him. They leave the building together, with Jensen’s fingers entwined in Jared’s hand and Sadie pressing close to Jensen’s leg.

“Let’s go home.”

 

~end~


End file.
